


.. n -^ >t- 



^"^^ 





m§>: 






.1' 


















# 



%^ 









N^^ '%>. 



9^ -^^'ZJ ^y ^ 



>^ 



^■^ * 



S.^ 



<^ %, -v^^'" ^^'F'^^^'- 



►^ '^z^. 



^0O 









v> ^> 






.0 o 



V^ 



'^. ^^C 



^0 



l/>,^ 
p <: 



x^^' 



' ^ :> * ^ " 

^- --^^ ^^. ^ 
.00 



.. -^c 






^^ 






y o 




^ 






"%^'0' 



c^:^:^- 



^^' 



o.^ 



iarpt's §tanbar^ Stilts of SptciIurs--|Io. 2 



THE 



INTERMEDIATE 



STANDARD SPEAKER, 



C O N T A I N I X (3 



PIECES FOR DECLAMATION 



IN 



SCHOOLS, COLLEGES, ETC. 



I^TTRODTTCTOKY, on SUPPLELIENTAUT, TO THE STAIIDAK.D SPEAKER 



r.Y 



EPES SAEGENT, 



AFTHOR OF "THE STANDARD SIEAKER, THE STAiXDARI) SEUIES OF READEKJ 

ETC. ETC. 







PHILADELPHIA: 
PUBLISnED BY CHARLES DESILVEE. 

185t. 



krgtnt's StanliarJj ^nxt& at Spakers. 



THE STANDARD SPEAKER. Imperial 12mo. 55« pp. 

THE INTERMEDIATE STANDARD SPEAKER. 

THE PRIMARY STANDARD SPEAKER. Eor youngest pupils. 

The last-named work is in press. 16mo. 160 pp. 

PUBLISHED BY 

CHARLES DESILVER, ^X 



253 Market St., Philadelphia. i be if 






(the latest and most successful.) 



THE STANDARD FIFTH READER. 

THE STANDARD FOURTH READER. 

THE STANDARD THIRD READER. 

THE STANDARD SECOND READER. Illustrated. 

THE STANDARD FIRST READER. Illustrated. 

To the above are now added 

THE STANDARD SPELLER. 
THE STANDARD PRIxMER. 

*'^' Teachers and committees who wish to have specimen copies of Sargent's Readers, 
&C-, with a view to their introduction into schools, can procure them gratis^ by sending 
stamps to prepay the postage. Postage on Fifth Reader, 24 cts., Foui'th, 18 cts.-, Third, 
15 cts.-, Second, 12 cts. 5 First, 9 cts.j Speller, 12 cts. 5 Primer, 6 cts. Address 

THE publishers, 

PHILI>IPS, SAMPSON & CO., 

13 Winter St., Boston. 

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year eighteen hundred and fifty-seven, by 
Epes Sargent, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the 
District of Massachusetts. 



Publisliers and compilers are informed that many of the pieces in this collection are 
sul)ject to copf right. 



ELECTROTTED BY HOBART & ROBBINS, C6 CONGRESS STREET, BOSTON. 



PREFACE. 



The success of The Standard Speaker having been 
dch as to elicit from the public and the publisher a 
emand for a series of Speakers by the same author, 
and adapted to the different ages of pupils^ the present 
volume has been prepared. It forms the second of a 
series of three; of which The Standard Speaker is the 
largest and most comprehensive, and The Primary 
Standard Speaker the smallest and most simple. Eep- 
etitions of pieces are, with a few unimportant excep- 
tions, avoided in these books, so that they jointly 
present nearly all the approved gems of oratory, 
ancient and modern, and all the choicest lyrical and 
dramatic pieces in the English language, suitable for 
school delivery. 

It will be seen that considerable original effort, in 
the way of translation, adaptation, and alteration, has 
been expended on this work. Teachers of elocution 
are well aware that many excellent pieces, which a 
slight change would make appropriate as exercises for 
the young, are rendered useless because of their length, 
because of their episodical passages, or because of 
certain objectionable expressions which they may con- 



4 PREFACE. 

tain. It is hoped that this general acknowledgment 
of the liberties that have been taken, where objections 
like these were to be removed, will be rightly received. 

The introductory matter is much of it compiled from 
the best authorities, and no other merit is claimed for 
it than that of careful appropriation. 

The translations from the Greek, Latin, and French, 
have, with two or three exceptions, been made ex- 
pressly for this w^ork. 

The present volume will be found fuller in the de- 
partment of dialogues, humorous pieces, <fec., than The 
Standard Speaker; while the latter will be found' very 
full, if not complete, in the department of Senatorial 
eloquence. Indeed, the number of great masterpieces, 
like those of Chatham, Patrick Henry, Webster, Grat- 
tan, Shiel, Mirabeau, &c., in this department, is limited, 
as every compiler must admit. 

The debates in the present volume are a new feature, 
and will be found interesting exercises for school exhi- 
bitions. 

In his selection of pieces, the compiler has had re- 
gard chiefly to their effective declamatory character. 
Many works passing under the name of Speakers might 
more properly be called Readers^ because the pieces, 
though interesting, and having the attraction of novelty, 
are not suitable for an expressive and anim^d delivery 
from the Speaker's stage. It is believed that this objec- 
tion is avoided in the Standard Series of Speakers. 



CONTENTS 



PAGE. 

Introductory Treatise on Elocution, 11 

GENERAL DIVISIONS. 

I. The Rostrum, 27 

11. The Bar, 91 

III. The Camp, 105 

IV. The Bema, 117 

V. The Tribune, 123 

VI. The Floor of Parliament, 131 

VII. The Floor of Congress, 157 

VIII. The Stage, 188 

IX.. Humorous Pieces, 275 

X. Lyrical and Narrative Pieces, 299 

XI. Debates, 399 



•For American Independence, Adams, Samuel, 70 

Cato's Message to Cassar, AoDrsoN, Joseph, .... 191 

Cato on the Death of his Son, " '' .... 269 

Cato's Soliloquy, '' " .... 272 

Domestic Uses of Books, Alison, Sib Archibald, . 30 

To the Ladies, " " .31 

Study of Languages, " " .78 

On the British Treaty, Ames, Fisher, 157 

The Worth of Eloquence, Anonymous, 27 

Poetical Address to Poland, " 112 

Gustavus to the Dalecarlians, *' 114 

Resolve of Regulus (Dialogue), " 195 

The Gamblei-'s Son (Dialogue), " 200 

The Will (Dialogue), " 225 

Pedants Seeking Patronage (Dialogue), ... " 236 

Indigestion (Dialogue), " 250 

Yorkshire Angling (Humorous), " ...... 27G 

The Poet and the Chemist (Humorous), ... " 284 

The Removal (Humorous), " 287 

The Retort (Humorous), " ...... 288 

The Tippler Confounded (Humorous), .... . " 291 

The Directing Post (Humorous), '< 292 

The Doctor and his Apprentice (Humorous), . '' 295 

Three Words o^ Strength (Poetry), " 335 

Song of the Cornish Men, " 356 

Dreams, '^ 356 

Song of the Forge, " 300 

Where are the Dead, " 362 

The Lyre and the Sword, " ...... 3G8 

Occasion (From the Italian), '' 386 

War-Song of Dinas Vaur, 0" 394 

The Suitor Disenchanted, " 396 

1). 5 



6 



CONTENTS, 



Debates. I. Mental Capacities of the Sexes, Anonymous, 

" 11. On the Admission of Ladies, tfeo., '^ . . . . ! 

" III. A Taste for Poetry, '' 

The Poet's First Tragedy, Bayly, T. H., 

Effects of Intemperance, Beecher, Rev. L., . . 

An Orator's First Speech, Bell, Alexander, . \ 

A Highway to the Pacific, Benton, T. H., .... 

The Oregon Settlement, " .... 

Money makes the Mare go, Berquin, A., 

From the Tragedy of Spartacus, Bird, R. M., 

Breakers Ahead, Blacker, Col 

True Courage, Bowring, John, . . . 

Gustavus and Cristiern, Brooke, Henry, . . . 

The Returned Tourists, Brooks, C. T., .... 

To the Liverpool Electors, Brougham, Lord Henry, 

Vocation of the Schoolmaster, *^ " 

Song of Marion's Men, Bryant, W. C, . 

The Green Mountain Boys, " "• 

The Christian Martyr, Buchanan, Rev. H 

Against Taxing America, Burke, Edmund, 

Right of American Taxation, ^^ ^' 

English Liberty in America, '^ '' 

The Laboring Poor, '^ " 

The American Revolution, '' " 

Impolicy of Injustice, '^ ^^ 

The Beautiful, Burrington, E. H. 

Saul before his last Battle, Byron, Lord G. G. 

On the Death of Sheridan, '' '' 

Address to the Ocean, " '^ 

The Isles of Greece, " '' 

The Gladiator, " " 

The American Republic, " " 

Greece, " '^ 

The Field of Waterloo, " '' 

Childe Harold's Departure, " " 

War the Game of Tyrants, ^^ ^' 

The Ruins of Rome, '« " 

Freedom for Europe, ^' " 

Internal Improvements, Calhoun, John C, 

Our Naval Victories, " *^ 

On the Force Bill, " '' 

On Taxing America, Camden, Lord, . 

The Deliverance of Europe, Canning, George, 

The License of Opposition, . ^^ <^ 

The Love of Popularity, " " 

The Seed of Freedom's Tree, Campbell, Thomas 

Prospect of Immortality, ^' ^'^ 

Belief in a Future State, '< " 

Skepticism of the KgQ, Carlyle, Thomas, 

Horrors and Honors of War, Channing, Rev. W. E 

The Common School System, Chapin, Rev. E. H., 

On Constitutional Resistance, Chatham, Earl of. 

The Measures against America, ^' ^^ 

On the American War, '' ^' 

The Expulsion of Wilkes, '' '' 

Washington's Farewell Address, Choate, Rufus, . . , 

Vv'ar under the Guise of Peace, '' " 

Against Catiline, ..." Ctcf.ro, Marcus Tullius, 



PAGE. 

.309 
.409 
.421 
. 282 
. 82 
. 275 
.179 
. 187 
. 243 
. 211 
.30.4 
.305 
. 223 
.311 
. 81 
. 142 
. 109 
.353 
.349 
.134 
. 136 
.137 
. 138 
. 139 
. 144 
. 379 
. 113 
. 326 
.329 
.332 
.366 
.367 
.372 
.376 
.380 
.382 
.391 
.397 
.166 
.167 
. 173 
. 132 
. 147 
. 151 
. 153 
.308 
.354 
.383 
.-84 
. 83 
. 89 
. 131 
. 133 
. 135 
. 140 
. 09 
. 169 
120 



CONTENTS. 



PAOE. 



National Grlory, ♦ Clay, Henry, 101 

War consequent on Disunion, '^ ^' 171 

The Public Land Bill, " '' 174 

The Capitol or the Constitution, Clayton, J. M., 181 

Sir E. Mortimer and AYilford, Coleman, Geo., the younger, 204 

Sylvester Daggerwood, , " '' '' 216 

Seeking Service, '' '' " 255 

Lodgings for Single Gentlemen, " " " 284= 

The Newcastle Apothecary, " " " 286 

Sarcasms against Reform, Coquerel, Rev. A., . . . 56 

Unjust National Acquisitions, Corwin, Thomas, .... 177 

Loss of the Royal George, Coavper, William, . . .338 

Preaching against Practice, . . .• ** '^ . . .297 

Leonidas, Croly, Rev. Geo., .... 305 

Cato's Defiance, _. , . " '' .... 271 

The Mariner s Song, Cunningham, Allan, . . 309 

Public Silence at a Trial, Curran, John P., . . . . 100 

Catholic Emancipation, *^ " .... 102 

Government Informers, " " .... 103 

Alexander the Great to his Men, Curtius, R. Q., . . . . . 106 

Darius to his Army, " ^' 110 

Unity of our Country, Cushing, Caleb, .... 38 

Regulus, Dale, Rev. T., 322 

Against Bribery, Demosthenes, 117 

The Subversion of the Constitution, .... " 118 

Reply to JEschines, " 121 

Right of Self-De fence, Dexter, Samuel, .... 91 

Against Demosthenes, Dinarchus, 119 

Antony and Ventidius, Dryden, John, . . . . .197 

Seize the Present Hour, " " 318 

The Place to Die, Dublin Nation, 345 

The Americans not Rebels, Dunning, Joseph, .... 156 

Last Hours of Copernicus, Everett, Edward, ... 32 

Our Common Schools, '^ '' ... 51 

The People always Conquer, " '^ ... 53 

Vocation of the Merchant, " " ... 66 

Twenty-five Years of Peace, '' " ... 86 

Voyage of the Mayflower, " " ... 88 

Dirge of Alaric, ^^ " ... 351 

The Mother of Empires, Elgin, Lord, , 55 

Eorging of the Anchor, Ferguson, S., 350 

War with America, Fox, C. J., 143 

Faith, Fritz and Leolett, . . .327 

The Days of Youth, Goethe, J. W. V., . . . . 315 

Character of Chatham, Grattan, Henry, .... 76 

On the Catholic Question, '' '' . . . . 141 

The Bridal of Malahide, Griffin, Gerald, . . . .395 

In Prospect of War, Hall, Rev. Robert, ... 83 

Battle-Song for Freedom, Hamilton, G., 108 

In Favor of Free Trade, Hayne, Robert Y., . . . 162 

European Examples, ^^ " ... 163 

Smuggling caused by High Duties, " " ... 164 

Sympathy, Heber, Rev. Reginald, .277 

Belshazzar, , . Heine, Heinrich, .... 300 

The Excellent Man, '' '' .... 283 

Song of Mina's Soldiers, Hemans, Mrs. F., . . . .116 

The Conspirators of Palermo, '' -' .... 188 

The Fall of D'Assas, " '' .... 306 



8 



CONTENTS. 



Tasso's Coronation, Hemans, Mrs. F., 

Forfeitures in Time of War, Henry, Patrick, 

On a Fondness for Reading, Herschel, Sir J. F. W. 

Taylor at Buena Vista, IIilliard, H. W., 

Law the Power of All, Hopkinson, Joseph 

From the Tragedy of Douglas, Home, John, . , 

Faithless Nelly Gray, • • • Hood, Thomas, . 

Universal Suffrage, Hugo, Victor, . . 

The Death Penalty, " " 

Reasons of State, '' " 

What makes a King, Hunt, Leigh, . . 

Jaffar, " " 

War unsanctioned by Christianity, James, Rev. J. A., 

Columbus in Chains, Jewsbury, Miss, 

Flight of Xerxes, '' '< 

True and False Valor, Jons on, Ben, . . 

The Star-Spangled Banner, Key, Francis S., 

The Power of Journalism, King, Charles, . 

America's Triumphs, Legare, H. S., . 

The Laboring Classes, *' " 

The Progress of Madness, Lewis, M. G., 

National Obligations, Livingston, E., . 

Modulation in Speaking, Lloyd, Robert, . 

The Pounder (Spanish Ballad), ...... Lockhart, J. G., 

The Vengeance of Mudara, " " 

The Lord of Butrago, '< " 

Bernardo and Alfonzo, '" " 

Lamentation for Ceiin, '' " 

Extract from " Hiawatha," Longfellow, H. W 

The Tempest Stilled, Lyons, Rev. J. G., 

Justice to East Indians, Mac aula y, T. B., 

Jews' Disabilities Bill, '' '' 

The Struggle for Fame, . c Mackay, Charles, 

Said I to Myself, said I, . " " 

William the Conqueror, . , '^ '^ . 

Tubal Cain, , " " 

Against the Americans, ..... o ... . Mansfield, Lord, 

Advance, M'Carty, D. F., 

Permanence of American Liberty, McDuffie, George 

War sometimes a Duty, Meagher, T. F., 

Against Underhand Measures, " ^' 

Patriotism a Reality, ^^ '^ 

The Resurrection of Italy, . '< " 

English Legislation, European Examples, . . *' " 

The Transportation of Mitchel, '' '< 

On being found guilty of Treason, ..... " *' 

Statue of the Apollo, . . , . Mtlman, Rev. H. II., 

Disobedience of Magistrates, Mirabeau, V. R., 

Ptoply to an Order, '^ '^ 

The Debtor and the Dun, Moliere, J. B., . 

The Imaginary Sick Man, ** '^ 

The Crucifixion, Montgomery, James, 

Visit of St. Nicholas, Moore, C. C, . , 

Orator Puff, Moore, Thomas, 

Beauty, AVit, and Gold, '' '< 

The Modern Puffing System, ........ " " 

Rienzi to the Conspirators, . " " 

Life without Freedom, . . . , " " 



CONTENTS. 



9 



A Farewell, Moore, Thomas, . 

David and Goliah, More, Hannah, 

Daniel on Death, '' " 

Woodman, Spare that Tree, Morris, Geo. P., . 

Arminius to his Soldiers, Murphy, Arthur, 

The Political Bore, " " 

On Materialism, Nichol, J. P., . . 

The American Hero, Niles, Nathaniel, 

Violation of English Promises, O'Connel, Daniel, 

The Press the People^s Protection, " " 

Irish Disturbance Bill, '< " 

Speech of Junius Brutus, Payne, J. H., . . . 

On being called an Aristocrat, Perrier, Casimir, . 

Instruction in Books, Phillips, Prof. J., 

Knowledge as Power, '' ^' 

Catholic Disqualifications, Phillips, Charles, 

Justice to Catholics, , Plunkett, W. C, 

Paul Pry, Poole, John, . . 

My Little Cousins, Praed, W. M., . 

Alexander and Diogenes, ......... " " 

JSTew En glanders in New Orleans, Prentiss, S. S., . 

The Plaintiff Denounced, '' '' 

On the Embargo, , Quincy, Josiah, . 

American Institutions, Rantoul, Robt., 

Discovery of the Pacific, Bead, Thomas B. 

Our National Citizenship, Biyes, Wm. C, . 

Death of Louis XVI., Robespierre, E. M. 

Story of Ginevra, Rogers, Samuel, 

Impressment of Seamen, .......... Rush, Richard, . 

Speech of Catiline, Sallust, C. C, . 

American Freedom, Scott, Rey. W. A., 

Highland War-Song, . Scott, Sir Walter, 

Flora MaciYor's Summons, 

Helvellyn, 

Fitz James and Roderick, 

Highland Coronach, 

Battle of Bear An' Duine, 

Secret Societies, Seward, W. H., . 

Henry V. to his Soldiers, Shakspeare, Wm., 

Passages from Coriolanus, ^' " 

Hotspur and his Uncle^ " " 

Hotspur and Glendower, " " 

Uses of Adversity, *< '^ 

Soliloquy of Richard III., <« '' 

Falconbridge to King John, ^' " 

Hamlet's Soliloquy, " " 

Hamlet to the Players, " " 

Soliloquy of Macbeth, . " " 

The Quality of Mercy, << << 

Othello's Farewell, '< <' 

Alasco to his Men, Shee, Alfred, 

Nature of Justice, Sheridan, R. B., 

The Bank of England, " '' 

The Choleric Father, '< " 

Scene from " The Rivals," " " 

The Duel, " ^^ 

Irish Religious Dissensions, Shiel, R. L., . . 

The Vote by Ballot, . . . .' " 



PAGE. 

.390 
. 248 
. 273 
.390 
. 112 
. 241 
. 42 
.347 
. 69 
. 97 
. 149 
. 264 
. 126 
. 28 
. 29 
. 36 
. 146 
. 220 
.297 
.388 
. 65 
.101 
. 160 
. 87 
.314 
. 168 
. 125 
.330 
. 43 
. 105 
. 40 
.111 
.319 
.327 
.342 
.345 
.374 
. 184 
. 113 
. 192 
. 208 
. 246 
. 265 
. 265 
. 266 
.267 
. 268 
. 268 
. 274 
. 274 
. 108 
. 92 
. 145 
.231 
. 233 
. 258 
. 94 
. 148 



10 



CONTENTS. 



Irish Aliens, Shiel, R. L., . . . 

The Murderer's Confession, Smith, Horace, . . 

Address to a Mummy, '^ <' 

The Spirit of Persecution, Smith, Rey. Sydney, 

Curse of Kehama, Southey, Robert, . 

Too late I stayed, Spencer, ^V. R., 

Obligations to England, Sprague, Charles, 

The Intemperate Husband, . » '' '^ 

The Fourth of July, '' '' 

Bullum versus Boatum, Stevens, Gr. A., . . 

Daniel versus Dishcloth, ^' " . . 

The Peace ot the Nations, Sumner, Charles, . 

Policy of Roads, " '' 

The Old Cottage Clock, Swain, Charles, . 

Germanicus to his Troops, Tacitus, C. C, . . 

The Siege of Ghent, Taylor, Henry, 

Soliloquy of Van Artevelde, '' " 

The Charge at Balaklava, Tennyson, Alfred, 

Sorrows of Werter, Thackeray, W. M., 

The Chamois Hunter, Tupper, M. E., . . 

The Grave, Wahlmann, S. A., . 

Dangers of our Prosperity, ........ Walker, Timothy, 

False Notions of Ofiice, '< '' 

The Twenty-Second of February, Webster, Daniel, 

The Future of America, '^ " 

Duty of a Chief Magistrate, '' " 

Tribute to Clergymen, '* " 

Objects of the Mexican War, *' ^' 

Peaceable Secession Impossible, '^ " 

Permanency of States, '^ " 

Liberty of Speech, " ^' 

The Fate of the Friendless, Wilde, R. H., . . 

Why thus Longing, Win slow, Harriet, 

Character of Washington, Winihrop, R. C, 

Defense of Madison, Wirt, William, 

Cause for Indian Resentment, '^ '' 

The United States and the Cherokees, .... " " 

The Razor Seller, AVolcott, John, , 

The Voice of History, Wolfe, Rev. Charles 



PAGE. 

. 152 
.357 
. 293 
. 85 
.342 
.398 
. 33 
. 58 
.307 
.277 
.279 
. 35 
.185 
. 298 
. 115 
. 213 
. 270 
.107 
. 283 
.336 
.310 
. 41 
. 42 
. 37 
. 57 
. 79 
. 95 
. 176 
. 182 
. 183 
. 183 
.381 
.387 
. 64 
. 61 
. 75 
. 93 
. 291 
. 50 



INTRODUCTION. 



The Art of Reading and Speaking with expressive distinctness con- 
stitutes what is now called Elocution. 

According to this definition, Elocution may be divided as follows : 
1. Vocality. 2. Articulation and Pronunciation. 3. Inflection and 
Modulation. 4. Emphasis. 5. Gesture and Action. 

I. In Vocality we consider the power of expression by the voice. 
A properly disciplined voice should have the power of forming three 
series of sounds ; namely, the Natural voice, the Orotund voice, and 
the Falsetto voice. 

The Natural voice is that which is heard in ordinary conversation, 
in narration and argument. It is the middle tone, between the higher 
and lower notes of the voice. 

The Orotund voice is a deep mellow voice, the attainment of which 
is usually dependent on great vocal exercise. It seems to be directed 
more freely into the pharynx than the Natural voice. It may be 
exerted to a great extent without fatigue or injury. 

The Falsetto voice is rarely employed in the pronunciation of whole 
sentences ; but it is occasionally heard in the expression of distance, 
in strong surprise, or vehement exclamation. 

A modification of these three series of sounds is heard in the 
Guttural voice, which is particularly expressive of hatred, horror, 
and all feelings approaching to these. 

The proper development of vocality can be attained only by judi- 
cious practice. The student will be surprised at the new powers 
which he will find in his voice after a diligent and well-directed 
course of vocal gymnastics. The voice should be most frequently 
practiced on a middle key. If it is pitched too high, there is harsh- 
ness produced when /orce is attempted ; and shrillness, or a tendency 
to break, when loudness ; — if too low, the throat becomes dry, and 
the voice husky. The daily practice of reading aloud cannot be too 
early commenced, or too per sever ingly continued. To strengthen 



12 INTRODUCTION. 

weak respiration, the practice of energetic reading in a strong, loud 
whisper, or gruff voice, will prove beneficial. Above all, exercise in 
the open air will be found of advantage. The ancient rhetoricians 
practiced declamation while walking or running up a hill-side before 
breakfast, or standing by the sea-shore, face to the wind, and en- 
deavoring to out-bellow the tempest. Respiratory exercises should 
not be practiced immediately after a full meal. 

II. Articulation is the correct formation, by the organs of speech , 
of certain sounds which add to vocality literal and verbal utterance. 

Every word of more than one syllable is distinguished by the heavy 
utterance (called Accent) of one particular syllable, and the light 
utterance of the other, or others. The following words afford 
examples of accent : — A com' pound, to com-pound' ; blas'phe-mous, 
blas-phe'ming ; com-mand'er, com-man-dant'. 

Pronunciation is the exact employment of the proper vowel and 
consonant sounds and accents, which custom has established. The 
correct accentuation and pronunciation of words can be best acquired 
"by the study of the standard dictionaries of the English language. 

The power of distinct and forcible enunciation is the basis of 
delivery. Between deliberate, full-toned, and energetic speaking, 
and feeble, indistinct, and spiritless utterance, there is the difference 
of live and dead oratory. The rudiments of speaking are few and 
simple. Vowels should have a bold, round, mellow tone. A slight, 
short, mincing pronunciation of the accented vowels is a most dis- 
agreeable fault. 

Audibility depends chiefly on articulation ; and articulation de- 
pends much on the distinctness with which we hear the final conso- 
nants.* A strong delivery is to be constantly cultivated — that is, 
an energy that shall prevent drawling, and, at the same time, a 
moderation that shall avoid mumbling words, or chopping half the 
sounds away, as in hasty speaking. Take time to fully articulate 
and intonate. Speak "trippingly," without tripping. If you 
must be extreme, better be solemn than hasty. 

III. Inflection and Modulation have reference to the changes of 
tone, and pauses of the voice, suitable for the expression of certain 
ideas and passions. All inflections are either Acute or Grave, or a 
combination of these. When the inflection slides upward, it is called 

* For exercises in the elementary vowel and consonant sounds, and in 
pronunciation, see Sargent's Standard Fifth, Fourth, or Third Reader. 



THE INFLECTIONS. 13 

Rising ; and when it slides downward, Falling. The same mark used 
in dictionaries before an accented syllable is sometimes used by elo- 
cutionists to denote the rising inflection; as, Was he rewarded^? 
The mark known as the grave accent may be used to designate the 
falling inflection ; as, //e was rewarded^. But any other arbitrary 
mark may be used to designate the inflections. 

The rising inflection is that upward turn of the voice which we 
generally use at the comma, or in asking a question which begins 
with a verb ; as, " Did he say no^? " 

The falling inflection is generally, though not always, heard at 
the colon and semicolon, and must necessarily be heard in answer to 
the last question ; '' He did^ ; he said no^." Both these inflections 
are found in the following passage : 

*' Does Caesar deserve fame', or blame^? " 

The slide upward, primarily, signifies suspension or incomplete- 
ness ; and the downward slide, completion. The former should be 
used wherever the hand and eye must necessarily be elevated in 
action ; as, for example, when exalted ideas, amiable and exhilarating 
sentiments, or ennobling attributes, are alluded to ; and the latter, 
when the contraries of these are mentioned. 

The circumflex, which is subdivided into the rising and falling 
circumflex, is a combination of the acute and grave accents, — the 
rising being marked thus {^) ; and the falling, thus (v). When a 
syllable begins with a falling and ends with a rising inflection, it 
is said to have a rising circumflex ; but when it begins with a rising 
and ends with a falling inflection, a falling circumflex. These two 
forms of the circumflex are frequently used in words spoken ironi- 
cally. We have examples of both in the following passage : 

" Hear him, my lord ; he is wondrous condescending." 

Certain passages require a continuance of one tone through many 
words, and, occasionally, through lines : this is called a monotone ; 
it is usually indicated by the mark of a long vowel, thus "" ; and is 
well exemplified in the middle paragraph of the following passage 
from Portia's speech on mercy : 

PERSUASIVE ENTREATY ; SOFT, MIDDLE TONE. 

The quality of mercy is not strained ; 
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed ; 
2 



14 INTRODUCTION. 

It blesseth iiim that gives, and him that takes ; 
'T is mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes 
The throned * monarch better than his crown. 

SOLEMN MONOTONE ; LOWER. 

His scepter shows the force of temporal power. 

The attribute to awe and majesty, 

Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings : 

RAPTURE ; HIGH, STRONG TONE.' 

But mercy is above this sceptered sway ; 

It is enthroned in the hearts of kings ; 

It is an attribute to God himself ; 

And earthly power doth then show likest God's, 

When mercy seasons justice. 

Parenthetical clauses require to be spoken in a lower tone of voice, 
and with a more rapid utterance, than the principal sentence ; a 
slight pause both before and after the parenthesis adds to the effect : 

*' If there 's a power above us 
(And that there is, all nature cries aloud 
Through all her works), he must delight in virtue ; 
And that which he delights in must be happy." 

Addison. 

IV. Emphasis is that peculiar stress which we lay on words when 
we wish to impress particularly the ideas that they represent. 

The more important emphatic words are, principal verbs, nouns, 
adjectives, and adverbs when not used in a connective sense. The 
comparatively unimportant words are, auxiliary verbs, pronouns, 
conjunctions, connecting adverbs, prepositions, and articles. Gen- 
erally, also, the names and attributes of the Deity ^ of ^persons and 
jjlaces^ are emphatic. Emphasis is well illustrated in the following 
remark : 

I do not ask ; I demhnd your attention. 

Words are also emphatic which have an antithesis either expressed 
or understood, as in the following example : 

'* And put a tongue 
In every wound of Caesar, that should move 
The sionts of Rome to rise and mutiny." 

♦ The mark of the diasresis over the e shows that it should commence a 
separate syllable. 



EMPHASIS AND GESTURE. 15 

It may also be laid down as a general rvile respecting emphasis, 
that the positive member of a sentence uniformly requires the 
emphatic falling, and the negative member the emphatic rising 
inflection ; as, 

Did he do it voluntarily', or involuntarily^ ? 
He did it voluntarily^ not involuntarily'. 
Did he act justly', or unjustly^ ? 
He acted justly\ not unjustly'. 

The emphasis v^hich is suggested by the sense is the best guide. 
Let a person make sure of the sense, and his emphasis vrill be natural 
and varied. An active and original conception can alone produce 
that personality of enunciation which is the chief charm of oratory. 
Conception is the sole governor of intonation. 

A clergyman who, in his younger days, was disposed to undervalue 
the importance of accurately disposed emphasis, one day found hi8 
mistake by the laughter created on his reading this text : '' And he 
spake to his sons, saying, Saddle me, the «5.s,and they saddled him." 
Of this same clergyman it is told that a man whom he reprimanded 
for swearing replied that he did not see any harm in it. ''No harm 
in it ? " said the minister ; '^ why, do you not know the command- 
ment, ' Swear not at all ' ? " — ''I do not swear at a//," said the 
man ; " I only swear at those who annoy me." 

Y. Gesture and Action. — Modulation, inflection, and vocal ex- 
pression, however perfect, would fail to give delivery its full impress- 
iveness, if the face and whole body did not sympathetically manifest 
the feeling which vibrates in the tones. Nothing can be more spirit- 
less and unnatural than rigid stillness on the part of an orator. 
Unaided by language, a person may, by gesture alone, convey his 
meaning to another ; whereas, without it, the most powerful language 
will often be tame and inefficient. Cicero directs the orator to bestow 
the chief care on the management of the eye, and Quintillian ob- 
serves that '' the action of the hands is the common language of all 
mankind, without which all gesture is weak and impotent." " With 
the hands alone," says Sheridan, '' we can demand a promise, call, 
dismiss, threaten, supplicate, ask, deny, manifest joy, sorrow, de- 
testation, fear, admiration," &c. 

But the tendency to gesticulate is so natural, that instruction will 
generally be needed rather to subdue and chasten, than to produce 
gesticulation. To a speaker of any animation , the greatest difficulty 



16 INTRODUCTION. 

is to stand still. The judicious employment of moderate gesture is 
more effective than any possible amplification of spasmodic attitudes, 
or redundancy of grimace. 

No one can recite with propriety what he does not feel ; and the 
key to gesture, as well as to modulation, is earnestness. No actor 
can portray character unless he can realize it, and he can only 
realize it by making it for the time his own. 

In the natural order of passionate expression, looks are first, 
gesture second, and words last. Inexpressive motions should always 
be avoided. No gesture should be made without a reason for it ; 
and when any position has been assumed, there should be no change 
from it without a reason. The habit of allowing the hands to fall 
to the side immediately after every gesture, produces an ungracefully 
restless efiect. The speaker seems 

" Awkward, embarrassed, stiff, without the skiU 
Of moving gracefully^ or standing still — 
Blessed with all other requisites to please. 
He wants the striking elegance of ease," 

Some orators accompany every vocal accent by a bodily motion ; 
but the consequence is, that their monotonous manipulations fatigue 
the eye. A gesture that illustrates nothing is worse than useless. 
It destroys the effect of really appropriate movements. Perhaps 
the most difficult part of delivery is gracefully to stand still. Let the 
speaker study this. 

Motions towards the body indicate self-esteem, egotism, or invita- 
tion ; from the body, command or repulsion ; expanding gestures 
express liberality, distribution, acquiescence, or candor ; contracting 
gestures, frugality, reserve, or collection ; rising motions express 
suspension, climax, or appeal ; falling, completion, declaration, or 
response ; a sudden stop in gesture expresses doubt, meditation, or 
listening ; a sudden movement, decision or discovery ; a broad and 
sweeping range of gesture illustrates a general statement, or expresses 
boldness, freedom, and self-possession ; a limited range denotes diffi- 
dence or constraint, or illustrates a subordinate point ; rigidity of 
muscle denotes firmness, strength, or effort : laxity, languor or weak- 
ness ; slow motions are expressive of gentleness, caution, and deli))- 
eration ; and quick motions, of harshness and temerity. 

The motions of the arm must commence at the shoulder, not at 
the elbow ; the upper part of the arms should never, therefore, rest in 



GESTURE AND ATTITUDE. 



17 



contact with the side. The motions of the arms should not l^e accom- 
panied by any action of the shoulders, or swaying of the body. For 
instance, in projecting forward one arm, the opposite shoulder must 
not retire ; or, in raising one arm, the opposite shoulder must not be 
depressed. The body must be kept square to the eye of the auditor, or 
to the center of the auditors. Gesture is most graceful with the right 
hand and arm when the left foot is in advance, and with the left 
when the right foot is in front. This preserves the square of the body. 

Gesture, like vocal expression, must depend on the force and 
earnestness of the speaker's conception of what he utters. Rules 
and diagrams are of little service here. But an attempt has been 
made, by some ingenious writers, to classify the leading positions ; 
and the accompanying diagrams (copied from photographs of living 
youths) will be found to illustrate these. They may serve as hints 
to the un practiced. 

The leading positions maybe styled, — 1. The introductory. 2. 
Deprecatory. 3. Emphatic. 4. Invocatory. 5, The positions of 
Entreaty and Denial. 6. Relative. 7. The positions of Repose. 

A speaker, in opening his 
subject to his audience, may, 
if his language be not abrupt 
and impassioned at the outset, 
assume, in his first gesture, the 
position represented in diagram 
1. Here the whole weight of 
the body should be thrown 
upon the right leg, which 
should be a little in advance 
of the left, the other just touch- 
ing the floor, the feet being sep- 
arated about six or eight inches. 
The knees should be straight 
and braced ; and the body, 
though perfectly straight, not 
perpendicular, but inclining 
as far to the right as a firm 
position on the right leg will 
permit. The right arm must 

then be extended, with the palm of the hand open, the fi.ngers slightly 
curved, and the thumb almost as distant from them as it will easilv 




Diagram 1. — I^'TEODUCTORT Position. 



18 INTRODUCTION. 

go, and the flat of the hand neither horizontal nor vertical, but 
exactly between both, the left hand hanging gracefully by the side. 
The extended arm should drop apparently lifeless, but not too 
abruptly, when the last emphatic word is pronounced. 

When the pupil has delivered a sentence or two of moderate length 
in this attitude, he may, at the moment of 'paragrafhing his subject 
to the eye, reverse his position ; doing, perhaps, with the left arm, 
hand, and leg, what he has just done with the right. But a per- 
petual see-saw of the arms is to be studiously avoided, as also a 
formal monotony in the change from one side to the other. Every 
movement must have its object. An attempt to distribute gestures 
equally between the right and left arm betrays the novice The 
right arm is the more naturally and frequently used in gesticulating 

The weight of the body should generally be sustained entirely by 
one foot. The limb that does not support the weight should be 
slightly bent, and its foot should rest lightly, or only partially, on 
the ground. The feet should be generally separated about as much 
as the breadth of the foot — the one in advance of the other, with 
its heel pointing to the heel of the retired foot. More extended posi- 
tions will be occasionally required in expressive action. The feet 
considerably separated, with the weight of the body on the advanced 
foot, indicate eagerness, earnest appeal, listening, attack, &c. ; on 
the retired foot, disgust, horror, defense, &c. ; considerably apart, 
with both heels on the same line, and the weight of the body sup- 
ported equally on both feet, pomposity and bluster. Frequent change 
indicates mental disturbance. 

Diagram 2. — All the parts of the body must l)lend in harmonious 
accompaniment with the gesticulating member. Isolated motions 
must be ungraceful, as they are unnatural. The impulse that moves 
the hand will not be unfelt by every muscle in the frame. 

" To this one standard make your just appeal : 
Here lies the golden secret, — Learn to feel ! " 

But, in the words of Shakspeare, '' In the very tempest, torrent, 
and, as I may say, whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire and 
beget a temperance that may give it smoothness." A speaker who 
loses command over himself, either in language, intonation, or 
gesture, must not be surprised if he preserve no command over his 
audience. 

This diagram (11.) represents a position suitable for the delivery 



GESTURE AND ATTITUDE. 



19 



of passages where a corrective or deprecatory idea is to be expressed ; 
or of passages moderately emphatic. It would properly accompany 
such passages as the following : 

I will not do them wrong ; I 'd rather choose 

To wrong the dead — to wrong myself or you — 

Than I would wrong such honorable men. Shakspeare. 

I have undertaken this prosecution, fathers, not that I might draw envy 
upon that illustrious order of which the accused happens to be, but with 
the direct design of clearing your justice and impartiality before the world. 
- — Cicero v. Verres. 

Not that I doubt the honorable gentleman's disposition to do right — 
for from it 1 

Ah ! gentlemen, that was a drea-dful mistake. Such a secret can be 
safe nowhere. — Webster. 




Diagram II — Deprecatory Position. 

Diagram'^, — This diagram represents positions suitable for the 
delivery of a highly emphatic sentiment. The arm should be gradu- 
ally raised from the position shown in diagram 1, until the hand is 
at the level of the head, the palm of the hand being presented flat, 
or nearly so, towards the audience (diagram 3, «) ; the arm should 



20 



INTRODUCTION. 



theai be brought, suddenly and with decision, to the position shown 
in diagram 3 (b) . Care must be taken that the body is maintained 
in a straight line with the leg on which it bears, and not suffered to 
lean to the opposite side. The attitudes represented in this diagram 
would be suitable for the delivery of passages similar to these : 

I '11 keep them all ; 

By heaven ! he shall not have a Scot of them ; 

No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not : 

I '11 keep them by this hand ! Shakspeare. 

If we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have 
been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to 
abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained, we must 
fight ; I repeat it, sir, we must fight ! — Henry. 

If I were an American, — as I am an Englishman, — while a foreign 
troop was landed in my country, I never would lay down my arms — 
never ! never ! never ! — Chatham. 

The blood-thirsty praetor, deaf to all he could urge in his own defense, 
ordered the infamous punishment to be inflicted. — Ciceeo v. Verres. 





Diagram III, — Emphatic Positions. 



Diac/ram 4. — The invocatory position should be used when the 
speaker has to make a vehement appeal to Heaven ; or when senti- 



GESTURE AND ATTITUDE. 



21 



ments of a very elevated or patriotic character have to be delivered, 
as is frequently the case in the perorations of the orators of antiquity. 
It must be remembered, also, that the eyes, and the countenance 
generally, should be directed upwards, following, as it were, the 




Diagram IV. — Invocatory Position. 

lead of the hand. But, in directing the attention of any person to 
an object supposed to be visible, the eye will first merely glance 
towards it, and then fix itself on the person addressed, while the 
finger continues to point. The position represented in diagram 4 
would be proper in delivering such passages as follow : 

Hail, holy light ! offspring of heaven first-born. 

Milton. 

Rise, 0, ever rise ! 

Else like a cloud of incense from the earth ! 

Thou kingly spirit throned among the hills, — 

Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven, 

Great Hierarch ! Coleridge. 

O, liberty ! — 0, sound once delightful to every Roman ear ! O, sacred 
privilege of Roman citizenship ! — once sacred, now trampled upon ' — 
Cicero. 



22 



INTRODUCTION, 



Diagram b. — Figures a and b in this diagram represent two 
speakers in a dialogue ; the former in an attitude of entreaty, and 
the latter of denial. The positions may be applicable to passages 
like the following : 

Pierre, Hence ! I know thee not. 
Jaffier, Not know me, Pierre ? Otway. 

Antony. I would be private : leave me. 
Ventidius, Sir, I love you, 
And therefore will not leave you. Dryden. 

Sir John. Away ! *' I do desire we may be better — strangers." 
Archy. Nay, Sir John, hear what I have to say. I '11 not detain you 
five minutes. 




Diagram V. — Entreaty and Denial. 

Diagrams 6, 7. — Diagram 6 shows one of the positions in which 
a speaker may stand who is being addressed by another. It also 
shows a position of the opposite speaker — such a position as he 
would be likely to assume in putting an interrogatory, or describing 
an event. A speaker who delivers himself singly to an audience, 
and one who addresses another speaker in view of an auditory, are 
under very different predicaments. The first has only one object to 



GESTURE AND ATTITUDE. 



23 



address ; the latter has two ; for, if a speaker were to address the 
person to whom he speaks, without any regard to the point of view 
in which he stands with respect to the audience, he would be apt to 
turn his back on them, and to place himself in ungraceful positions. 




Diagram VI. — Relative Positions. 

In a dialogue, each speaker should stand obliquely, for the most 
part, except in passages not directly addressed to the other. The 
party to the dialogue who is listening should, as a general rule, 
let his arms hang naturally by his sides, or with hands approaching 
(as in diagram 7) , unless what is said by the other is of a character 
to excite agitation or surprise ; or he may, with propriety, occa- 
sionally stand with arms folded (see diagram 7) , or with the right 
hand in the left breast, or the reverse, as shown in diagram 6. 

Where more than two speakers are introduced, as in some extracts 
from plays, the speakers should be arranged in a picturesque man- 
ner, agreeably to the laws of perspective ; and it is in these scenes 
that the positions of repose, represented in diagram 7, and by one 
of the figures in diagram 6, may be most properly introduced. 

After all that art can do to devise rules, it may be said, in regard 
to vocal delivery as well as to gesticulation, that all constraint upon 



24 



INTRODUCTION. 



nature produces affectation, and, of course, destroys true feeling. 
JS'o general practical rules for gesture, says Sheridan, can be laid 
down. " The chief end," he adds, " of all public speakers, is to 
persuade; and, in order to persuade, it is, above all things, necessary 





Diagram "VII. — Positions of Repose. 



that the speaker should at least appear himself to believe lohat he 
utters ; but this can never be the case where there are any evident 
marks of affectation or art. On the contrary, when a man delivers 
himself in his usual manner, and with the same tones and gestures 
that he is accustomed to use when he speaks from his heart, — how- 
ever awkward that manner may be, however ill regulated the tones, 
he will still have the advantage of being thought sincere." '' Nature 
can do much without art ; art but little without natura Nature 
assaults the heart ; art plays upon the fancy. Force of speaking 
will produce emotion and conviction ; grace only excites pleasure 
and admiration. As the one is primary, and the other but a second- 
ary end of speech, it is evident that, where one or the other is wholly 
to take place, the former should have the preference." "Where the 
two are combined, the accomplished orator is formed. 



RHETORICAL PAUSES. 25 



RHETORICAL PAUSES. 

The place of the pause is immediately before each of the words 
printed in italics in the following examples. 

Rule I. — Pause after the nominative ivhen it consists of more than 
one loord. 

Examples. 

The fashion of this world passeth away. 

The pleasures and honors of the world to come are, in the strictest sense 
of the word, everlasting. 

Rule II. — When any member co?nes between the nominative case 
and the verb, it must be separated from both of them by a short pause. 

Examples. 

Trials in this state of being are the lot of man. 
Money, like manure, does no good till it is spread. 

Rule III. — When any member comes between the vei'b and the 
objective or accusative case, it must be separated from both of them by 
a short pause. 

Examples. 

I cannot recall ivithout remorse the incident to which you allude. 
"VYe witnessed with delight the reconciliation of the friends. 

Rule TV. — Woj^ds or phrases in opposition, or when the latter 
only explain the former, hare a short pause between them. 

Examples. 

Hope, the balm of life, soothes us under every misfortune. 
Spenser, the poet, lived in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. 

Rule Y. — Who and ^Yhich, when in the nominative case, and the 
pronoun that, when used for who or w^hich, require a short pause 
before them. 

Examples. 

Death is the season which brings our a:ffections to the test. 

Nothing is in vain that rouses the soul : nothing in vain that keeps the 
ethereal fire alive and glowing. 

A man can never be obliged to submit to any power, unless he can be 
satisfied who is the person who has a right to exercise it. 

Rule VI. — Pause before that lohen it is used as a conjunction. 
3 



26 INTRODUCTION. 

Examples. 

The charge is too trifling to be confuted, and deserves only to be men- 
tioned that it may be despised. 

It is in society only that we can relish those pure delicious joys which 
embellish and gladden the life of man. 

Rule VII. — Whatever words are put into the case absolute^ must 
be separated from the rest by a pause. 

Examples. 

If a man borrow aught of his neighbor, and it be hurt or die, the owner 
thereof not being with it, he shall surely make it good. 
That day shall find us, Heaven consenting, /ree. 

Rule YIII. — In reading blank verse ^ avoid the one extreme of 
ending every line unth too marked a pause ; and the other ^ of confound- 
ing one line loith another so as to destroy the measure.^ 

Example. 

The heart is hard in nature, and unfit 

For human fellowship, as being void 

Of sympathy, and therefore dead ahke 

To love and friendship both, that is not pleased 

With sight of animals enjoying life. 

Nor feels their happiness augment his own. Cowper. 

Rule IX. ■ — A simile in poetry ought generally to be delivered m a 
lower tone of voice than that part of the passage ichich precedes it. 

Example, 4 

But ere he could arrive the point proposed, 

C83sar cried, " Help me, Cassius, or I sink." 

I, as ^neas, our great ancestor. 

Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder 

The old Auchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber 

Did I the tired Ccesar. . Shakspeark. 

* Mr. Sheridan, in his Art of Reading, has insisted largely on the necessity 
of making a pause at the end of every line in poetry, whether the sense 
requires it or not. Walker, in his Elements of Elocution, tells us that ho 
asked Dr. Lowth, Mr. Garrick, and Dr. Johnson, about the propriety of this 
pause, and they all agreed with Mr. Sheridan, though Walker differed. We 
think that Sheridan is right ; but the pause should be so delicate and slight 
as, while it preserves the music of the verse, not to interrupt the sense or 
the passion. 



THE 



INTEEMEDIATE 

STANDARD SPEAKER. 



PART FIRST. — THE ROSTRUM. 



I. — THE WORTH OF ELOQUENCE. 

Let us not, gentlemen, undervalue the art of the orator. Of 
all the efforts of the human mind, it is the most astonishing in its 
nature, and the most transcendent in its immediate triumphs. 
The wisdom of the philosopher, the eloquence of the historian, the 
sagacity of the statesman, the capacity of the general, may pro- 
duce more lasting effects upon human affiiirs ; but they are incom'- 
parably less rapid in their influence, and less intoxicating from 
the ascendency they confer. In the solitude of his library the 
sage meditates on the truths which are to influence the thoughts 
and direct the conduct of men in future times ; amid the strife 
of faction the legislator discerns the measures calculated, after a 
long course of years, to alleviate existing evils, or produce happi- 
ness yet unborn ; during long and wearisome campaigns the com- 
mander throws his shield over the fortunes of his country, and 
prepares in silence and amid obloquy the means of maintaining 
its independence. But the triumphs of the orator are immediate ; 
his influence is instantly felt ; his, and his alone, it is 

" The applause of listening senates to command. 
The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 

And read his history in a nation's eyes ! " 

" I can conceive," says Cicero, " of no accomplishment more 
to be desired than to be able to captivate the affections, charm 
the understanding, and direct or restrain, at pleasure, the will of 
whole assemblies. This single art has, amongst every free people, 
commanded the greatest encouragement, and been attended with 
the most surprising eftects. For what can be more astonishing, 
than that from an immense multitude one man should come forth, 



28 THE ROSTRUM. 

the only, or almost the only man, who can do what Nature has 
made attainable by all ? Or can any thing impart to the ears 
and the understanding a pleasure so pure as a discourse which at 
once delights by its elocution, enlists the passions by its rhetoric, 
and carries captive the conviction by its logic ? 

*' What triumph more noble and magnificent than that of the 
eloquence of one man, swaying the inclinations of the people, the 
consciences of judges, and the majesty of senates ? Nay, farther, 
can aught be esteemed so grand, so generous, so public-spirited, 
as to relieve the suppliant, to raise up the prostrate, to commmii- 
cate happiness, to avert danger, to save a fellow-citizen from exile 
and wrong ? Can aught be more desirable than to have always 
ready those weapons with which w^e can at once defend the weak, 
assail the profligate, and redress our own or our country's inju- 
ries? 

*' But, apart from the utility of this art in the Forum, the Ros- 
trum, the Senate, and on the Bench, can any thingin retirement 
from business be more delightful, more socially endearing, th^n a 
language and elocution agreeable and polished on every subject? 
For the great characteristic of our nature — that which distin- 
guishes us from brutes — is our capacity of social intercourse, 
our ability to convey our ideas by words. Ought it not, then, to 
be preeminently our study to excel mankind in that very faculty 
which constitutes their superiority over brutes? 

" Upon the eloquence and spirit of an accomplished orator 
may often depend, not only his own dignity, but the welfare of a 
government, nay, of a people. Go on, then, ye who would attain 
this inestimable art. Ply the study you have in hand, pursue it 
with singleness of purpose, at once for your own honor, for the 
advantage of your friends, and for the service of your country. 



IL— MEANS OF INSTRUCTION IN BOOKS. 

Theue is one source of gratification, perhaps the most important 
qf all, and which, it is to be hoped, will be considerably augmented 
in power and importance in this institution, and that is the 
Library. Thanks to heaven that we can read ! Thanks to heaven 
that there are books worth readins* — books in which the wisdom 
of ages is collected in a convenient space ! Yes, eternal honor to 
that Pelasgian hero, that mythical Cadmus, who crossed the 
snowy mountains, and brought the Asiatic gift of letters to the 
western world, and with that spell awoke the magic muse of 
Greece! Honor to those scribes — not pharisees — who, on the 
papyrus leaf and parchment roll — more durable than brass or 



KNOWLEDGE AS A POWER. 29 

stone — recorded the sacred traditions of Judaea, the eloquence 
of Greece, and the annals of Rome ! Honor to those honest work- 
men of the valley of the Rhine, who multiplied, by forms of wood 
and metal, all the literature of the ancient world, and gave to 
mankind a mass of knowledge that can never die, which no Arab 
chief can burn, and which no accident can in future destroy ! 
How important to read the books which preserve the undying 
words of Newton, and those illustrious men who have bequeathed 
to us the legacy of their highest thoughts, treasured up and put 
out to the noblest uses, for the common good of all mankind ! 

It behoves every man, whatever his rank in life, to take advan- 
tage of opportunities such as these, and especially it concerns the 
laboring man. We are, or ought to be, all laboring men. I do 
not think there is one individual, among the respectable company 
now assembled around me, who does not wish to rank himself as 
a working man. Some labor by the hand, and others by the 
head ; but no one must be idle. Nor should we insist too much 
on the distinction between one class of labor and another ; nor 
admit, for a m^oment, the great error, that labor is a curse. The 
necessity for labor, imposed by Providence, we cannot avoid ; but 
it depends only upon the mind to fulfill the purpose of Providence, 
and convert that labor into enjoyment. 

Members of this Institute ! by constantly attending to the 
means of instruction which it provides, you will win others to 
follow your example ; the public favor will follow you ; every 
thing will be prosperous before you, and it will be in your power 
to perpetuate and make more flourishing the institution to which 
you are attached. You have in hand a noble cause ; you have 
powerful assistance ; you have a great work to perform ; and I 
will conclude by advising you to go and do it. 

PROF. JOHN PHILLIPS. 



HI. — KNOYf LEDGE AS A POWER. 

Let no man rest the support which he gives to any educational 
institution upon a notion of the advantages that he is peculiarly 
to derive from it. Let us build upon a nobler basis than this ; 
for in vain have we founded this Institute, if, now that it is estab- 
lished, we trust for its support to any other than the broad and 
true principle, that " for the soul of man to be ignorant it is not 
good." Not because institutions such as this may be made to 
augment our individual influence in society ; not because by the 
instruction which is here obtained will its possessor be raised in 
wealth ; not because, in popular languas^e, *' knowledge is 
3* 



30 THE ROSTRUM. 

power," but, because with enlargement of knowledge conies 
improvement of individual cliaracter, and exaltation of social 
and national happiness. For this reason, let us adhere to the prin- 
ciple that " knowledge is good," because it is a source of blessing 
to mankind, and therefore deserves the cultivation of every rea- 
sonable man. 

" Knowledge is power." — Yes ! Power ! — power to do what ? 
Power to employ the senses and faculties which Grod has given us 
in examining the works which he has made ; and thus to acknowl- 
edge in all creation, " These are thy glorious works ! " Power 
to penetrate the mysteries of nature, to learn the laws of matter 
and motion, and from all that we can gather from the contempla- 
tion of nature to draw one encourao-ino; conclusion — that nothinoj 
happens in the universe, which is not carefully planned and strictly 
attended to. Power to discover the forces which it has j^leased 
the Almighty to put in action among particles of matter, and to 
turn these forces to the advantage of mankind ; bounded no longer 
by the sea, limited no longer to human strength, served by more 
than Titanic agents, whereby man may even fly across that gulf 
which, for thousands of years, separated the two divisions of the 
world. Power to guide, to govern, and to bless mankind ; and, 
most important of ail, power to know and to control ourselves ; 
power to take right views of our allotted place and destiny in and 
beyond this world ; to rise beyond the influence of daily neces- 
sity and immediate gratification, into the contemplations suited 
to immortal spirits, rays of a diviner essence. For these reasons 
we will honor knowledge as a Power ! ' ib. 



IV.— DOMESTIC USES OF BOOKS. 

" All our faults," says an author who. knew the human heart 
well, " spring from the inability to be alone." Every day's 
experience must convince you of the truth of La Bruyere's ^ 
remark. Thence comes the desertion of domestic life, the neg-- 
lect of its duties, the careless parent, the disobedient family, and 
that wretched craving after external excitement which converts 
the paradise of home itself into an ar'id wilderness. But can that 
man ever be alone, can he ever dread solitude, who can converse 
alternately with Virgil and Cicero, with Tasso and Ariosto, with 
Racine and Corneille, with Scott and Shakspeare? To such a 
man is really true, what Cicero said of Scipio Africanus, " Never 
less alone than wke}i alone ; never less at rest than when at rest." 
This is the real exclusive society — this is the magic circle, which, 

* Pronounced Lnh-hron-e-air's. 



ADDRESS TO LADIES. 31 

indeed, dignifies humanity ; for it interests without corrupting, 
and elevates the feeling without hardening the heart. But no 
haughty pride guards its approach — no zealous spirit forbids its 
entrance ; the portals are open to all, but they are to be passed 
only on the wings of perseverance. 

In vain does an utilitarian age ask what is the use of literary 
pursuits ? — what benefit is thence to arise to society ? — in what 
respect is the sum of human happiness to be increased by this 
extension ? What, I would ask, in reply, is the use of the poetry 
of Milton, the music of Handel, the paintings of Rafiaelle? 
Why are the roses more prized than all the harvests of the fields, 
though they are beautiful alone ? To what does everything great 
or elevating in nature tend, if not to the soul itself — to that 
soul which is eternal and invisible, and never ceases to yearn 
after the eternal and invisible, how far soever it may be removed 
from whatever affects only present existence, and which, in that 
very yearning, at once reveals its ultimate destiny, and. points to 
the means by which alone that destiny is to be attained ? 

Be not deterred, then, by the difficulties of the ascent, the toil 
requisite to reach the summit. Of such study may truly be 
said what has been so finely spoken of the moral uses of afflic- 
tion : " It is like the black mountain of Bender, in India ; the 
higher you advance, the steeper is the ascent, the darker and 
more desolate the objects with which you are surrounded ; but 
when you are at the summit, the heaven is above your head, 
and at jour feet the kingdom of Cashmere." 

SIR AKCHIBALD ALISON. 



v. — ADDRESS TO LADIES. 

CONTINUATION OF THE FOREGOING, 

I SEE with pleasure around me not merely an assembly of 
men, but a large proportion of the other sex. To the latter I 
would, in an especial manner, address myself ere we part, and 
that not in the spirit of chivalrous gallantry, but of serious 
moral duty. I will do so in the words of a man second to none 
that ever existed in intellectual power, and least of all liable to 
be swayed in matters of thought by the attractions of your 
society. " It is my decided opinion," said Napoleon, " that 
every thing in the future man depends upon his mother." If 
any thing was requisite to support so great an authority, I would 
add, that as far as my own observation has gone, I have never 
either heard or read of a remarkable man who had not a remark- 
able mother. 



32 THE ROSTRUM. 

If, then, study is requisite for the men who are to rule the 
world, what must it be for you who are to form the men ? whose 
blessed province it is to implant those early lessons of virtue, and 
inculcate those early feelings of religion and habits of perse- 
verance, on which the whole future fate of life depends, and 
which, by the blessing of Grod, when once received, will never 
be forgotten ? Thus it is that you will duly discharge your ines- 
timable mission ; thus it is that you will contribute your part 
to the great work of human advancement ; and thus it is that 
you will regain in home the lost Paradise of Eden, and be ena- 
bled to say of it, in your last hours, " This it is which has soft- 
ened the tjials of Time ; this has, indeed, been the gate of 
heaven." ib. 



VL — LAST MOMENTS OF COPERNICUS. 

Copeh'nicus, after harboring in his bosom for long, long years 
that pernicious heresy, — the solar system, — died on the day 
of the appearance of his book from the press. The closing scene 
of his life, with a little help from the imagination, would Sirnish 
a noble subject for an artist. For thirty -five years he has re- 
volved and matured in his mind his system of the heavens. A 
natural mildness of disposition, bordering on timidity, a reluct- 
ance to encounter controversy, and a dread of persecution, have 
led him to withhold his work from the press, and to make known 
his system but to a few confidential friends and disciples. 

At length he draws near his end ; he is seventy-three years of 
age, and he yields his work on the " revolutions of the heavenly 
orbs" to his friends for publication. The day at last has come 
on which it is to be ushered into the world. It is the 24th 
of May, 1543. On that day, — the elFect, no doubt, of the 
intense excitement of his mind operating upon an exhausted 
frame, — an effusion of blood brings him to the gates of the 
grave. His last hour is come ; he lies stretched upon the couch 
from which he will never rise, in his apartment at the Canonry 
at Frauenberg, in East Prussia. The beams of the setting sun 
glance through the Gothic windows of his chamber ; near his 
bedside is the armillary sphere, which he has contrived to rep- 
resent his theory of the heavens ; his picture painted by himself, 
the amusement of his earlier years, hangs before him ; beneath 
it his astrolabe and other imperfect astronomical instruments ; 
and around him are gathered his sorrowing disciples. The door 
of the apartment opens ; the eye of the departing sage is turned 
to see who enters ; it is a friend who brings him the first printed 



OBLIGATIONS TO ENGLAND. 33 

copy of liis immortal treatise. He knows that in that book he 
contradicts all that had ever been distinctly taught by former 
philosophers ; he knows that he has rebelled against the sway of 
Ptolemy, which the scientific world had acknowledged for a 
thousand years ; he knows that the popular mind will be shocked 
by his innovations ; he knows that the attempt will be made to 
press even religion into the service against him ; but he knows 
that his book is true. 

He is dying, but he leaves a glorious truth, as his dying be- 
quest, to the world. He bids the friend who has brought it 
place himself between the window and his bedside, that the sun's 
rays may fall upon the precious volume, and he may behold it 
once before his eye grows dim. He looks upon it, takes it in his 
hands, presses it to his breast, and expires. But no, he is not 
wholly gone. A smile lights up his dying countenance ; a beam 
of returning intelligence kindles in his eye ; his lips move ; and 
the friend who leans over him can hear him faintly murmur the 
beautiful sentiments which the Christian lyrist of a later age 
has so finely expressed in verse : 

^^ Ye golden lamps of heayen, farewell, with all your feeble light ! 
Farewell, thou ever-changing moon, pale empress of the night ! 
And thou, refulgent orb of daj, in brighter flames arrayed, 
My soul, which springs beyond thy sphere, no more demands thy aid. 
Ye stars are but the shining dust of my divine abode, 
The pavement of those heavenly courts, where I shall reign with God." 

So died the great Columbus of the heavens. e. everett. 



Vn. — OBLIGATIONS TO ENGLANT). 

Sir, in spite of all that has passed, we owe England much ; 
and even on this occasion, standing in the midst of my generous- 
minded countrymen, I may fearlessly, willingly, acknowledge the 
debt. We owe England much ; — nothing for her martyrdoms ; 
nothing for her proscriptions ; nothing for the innocent blood 
with which she has stained the white robes of religion and lib- 
erty ; — these claims our fathers canceled, and her monarch 
rendered them and theirs a full acquittance forever. But, for 
the living treasures of her mind, garnered up and spread abroad 
for centuries by her great and gifted, — - who that has drunk at 
the sparkling streams of her poetry, who that has drawn from 
the deep fountains of her wisdom, who that speaks and reads 
and thinks her language, will be slow to own his obligation ? 

We may forgive the presumption which " declared " its right 
" to bind the American colonies," for it was wofully expiated by 



34 THE ROSTRUM. 

the humiliation which " acknowledged " those same '' American 
colonies " to be '^ sovereign and independent states." The imme- 
diate workers, too, of that political iniquity, have passed away, 
xlnother race is there to lament the folly, another here to mag- 
nify the wisdom, that cut the knot of empire. Shall these 
inherit and entail everlasting enmity ? Like the Carthaginian 
Hamil'car, shall we come up hither with our children, and on 
this holy altar swear the pagan oath of undying hate? Even 
our goaded fathers disdained this. Let us fulfill their words, 
and prove to the people of England that " in peace " we knov>r 
how to treat them " as friends." They have been twice told 
that '' in war " we know how to meet them as " enemies ; " and 
they will hardly ask another lesson, for it may be that, when 
the third trumpet shall sound, a voice will echo along their sea- 
girt cliffs — " The glory has departed ! " ciiarles sprague. 



VIII. — AMERICA'S TRIUMPHS, 

What were the victories of Pompey to the united achievements 
of our Washingtons and Montgomerys and Grreens, our Frank- 
lins and Jeffersons and Adams's and Laurens's, — of the senate 
of sages whose wisdom conducted, of the band of warriors whose 
valor accomplished, of the " noble army of martyrs " whose blood 
sealed and consecrated, the Eevolution of '76 ? What were the 
events of a few campaigns, however brilliant and successful, in the 
wars of Italy, or Spain, or Pontus, to by far the greatest era — 
excepting, perhaps, the Reformation — that has occurred in the 
political history of modern times, — to an era that has fixed forever 
the destinies of a whole quarter of the globe, with the numbers 
without number that are soon to inhabit it, and has already had, 
as it will probably continue to have, a visible influence upon the 
condition of society in all the rest ? 

Nay, what is there, even in the most illustrious series of vic- 
tories and conquests, that can jjistly be considered as affording, 
to a mind that dares to make a philosophic estimate of human 
affairs, a nobler and more interesting subject of contemplation and 
discourse than the causes which led to the foundation of this 
mighty empire ; than the wonderful and almost incredible history 
of what it has since done and is already grown to ; than the scene 
of unmingled prosperity and happiness that is opening and spread- 
ing all around us ; than the prospect, as dazzling as it is vast, that 
lies before us, the uncircumscribed career of ao-o-randizement and 
improvement which we are beginning to run under such happy 



THE PEACE OF THE NATIONS. 35 

auspices, and with the advautage of having started at a point 
where it were well for the species had it been the lot of many 
nations even to have eiided their career I 

It is true, we shall not boast that the pomp of triumph has 
three hundred times ascended the steps of our capitol, or that the 
national temple upon its brow blazes in the spoils of a thousand 
cities. True, we do not send forth our prastors to plunder and 
devastate the most fertile and beautiful portions of the earth, in 
order that a haughty aristocracy may be enriched with booty, or 
a worthless populace be supplied with bread ; nor, in every region 
under the sun, from the foot of the Grampian hills to the land of 
frankincense and myrrh, is the spirit of man broken and debased 
by us beneath the iron yoke of a military domination. Xo ! oiir 
triumphs are the triimiphs ofreasoii, of happiness, of human natui-e. 
Our rejoicings are greeted with the most cordial sympathy of the 
cosmopolite and the philanthropist ; and the good and the wise all 
round the globe give us back the echo of our acclamations. It is 
the singular fortune, or, I should rather say, it is the proud dis- 
tinction of Americans, that, in the race of moral improvement 
which society has been every where running for some centuries past, 
we have outstripped every competitor, and have carried our insti- 
tutions, in the sober certainty of waking bliss, to a higher pitch 
of perfection than ever warmed the dreams of enthusiasm or the 
speculations of the theorist. hugh s. legake. 



IX. —THE PEACE OF THE NATIONS. 

Sir., there are considerations, springing from our situation and 
condition, which fervently invite us to take the lead in the great 
work of peace. To this should bend the patriotic ardor of the 
land ; the ambition of the statesman ; the efforts of the scholar ; 
the pervasive influence of the press ; the mild persuasion of the 
sanctuary ; the early teachings of the school. Here, in ampler 
ether and diviner air, are untried fields for exalted triumphs, more 
truly worthy the American name than any snatched from rivers 
of blood. War is known as the Last Reason of Kings, Let it 
be no reason of our Republic. Let us renounce and throw off, 
forever, the yoke of a tyranny more oppressive than any in the 
annals of the world. As those standing on the mountain-top first 
discern the coming beams of morning, let us, from the vantage- 
ground of liberal institutions, first recognize the ascending sun of 
a new era ! 

It is a beautiful picture in Grecian story, that there was, at 



36 THE ROSTRUM. 

least, one spot, tlie small Island of Delos, dedicated to the gods, 
and kept at all times sacred from war, where the citizens of hos- 
tile countries met, and united in a common worship. So let us 
dedicate our broad country ! The Temple of Honor shall be sur- 
rounded by the Temple of Concord, so that the former can be 
entered only through the portals of the latter ; the horn of Abun- 
dance shall overflow at its gates ; the angel of Religion shall be 
the guide over its steps of flashing adamant : while, within, Jus- 
tice, returned to the earth, from her long exile in the skies, shall 
rear her serene and majestic front. And the future chiefs of the 
republic, destined to uphold the glories of a new era, unspotted by 
human blood, shall be " the first in Peace, and the first in the 
hearts of their countrymen." 

But while we seek these blissful glories for ourselves, let us 
strive to extend them to other lands. Let the bugles sound the 
Truce of God to the whole world, forever ! Let the selfish boast 
of the Spartan women become the grand chorus of mankind, that 
they have never seen the smoke of an enemy's camp. Let the 
iron belt of martial music which now encompasses the earth be 
exchanged, for a golden cestus of Peace, clothing all with celestial 
beauty. History dwells with fondness on the reverent homage 
that was bestowed by massacring soldiers on the spot occupied 
by the Sepulcher of the Lord. Vain man ! to restrain his regard 
to a few feet of sacred mould ! The whole earth is the Sepul- 
cher of the Lord ; nor can any righteous man profane any part 
thereof. Let us recognize this truth ; and now, on this Sabbath 
of our country, lay a new stone in the grand Temple of Universal 
Peace, whose dome shall be as lofty as the firmament of heaven, 
as broad and comprehensive as the earth itself. sumner. 



X. — . CATHOLIC DISQUALIFICATIONS. 

You complain of the violence of the Irish Catholic. Can you 
wonder he is violent ? It is the consequence of your own inflic- 
tion : 

*' The flesh will quiver where the pincers tear. 
The blood will follow where the knife is driven. ' ' 

Your friendship has been to him worse than hostility ; he feels 
its embrace but by the pressure of his fetters. I am only amazed 
he is not more violent. He fills your exchequer ; he fights your 
battles ; he feeds your clergy from whom he derives no benefit ; 
he shares your burdens ; he shares your perils ; he shares every 



Mi 



THE TWENTY-SECOND OF FEBRUARY. 37 

thing except your privileges ; — can you loonder he is violent ? 
No matter what his merit ; no matter what his claims ; no mat- 
ter what his services ; he sees himself a nominal subject and a 
real slave, and his children, the heirs, perhaps of his toils, per- 
haps of his talents, certainly of his disqualifications ; — can you 
wonder he is violent ? 

He sees every pretended obstacle to his emancipation vanished ; 
Catholic Europe your ally', the Bourbon on the throne, the 
Emperor a captive, the Pope a friend — the aspersions on his 
faith disproved by his allegiance to you against, alternately, every 
Catholic potentate in Christendom, and he feels himself branded 
with hereditary degradation ; — ca7i you wonder^ then^ that lie is 
violent ? 

He petitioned humbly ; his tameness was construed into a 
proof of apathy. He petitioned boldly ; his remonstrance was 
considered as an impudent audacity. He petitioned in peace ; 
he was told it was not the time. He petitioned in war ; he was 
told it was not the time. A strange interval, a prodigy in poli- 
tics, a pause between peace and war, which appeared to be just 
made for him, arose ; I allude to the period between the retreat 
of Louis and the restoration of Bonaparte : he petitioned then, 
and he was told it was not the time, ! shame ! shame ! shame ! 
— I hope he will petition no more to a parliament so equivocat- 
ing. However, I am not sorry they did so equivocate, because I 
think they have suggested one common remedy for the griev- 
ances of both countries, and that remedy is, a reform of tuat 

PARLIAMENT. CHARLES PHILLIPS. 



XI. —THE TWENTY-SECOND OF FEBRUARY. 

Gentlemen, a most auspicious omen salutes and cheers us, this 
day. This day is the anniversary of the birth of Washington. 
Washington's birthday is celebrated from one end of this land to 
the other. The whole atmosphere of the country is this day 
redolent of his principles, — the hills, the rocks, the groves, the 
vales, and the rivers, shout their praises, and resound with his 
fame. All the good, whether learned or unlearned, high or low, 
rich or poor, feel this day that there is one treasure common to 
them all ; and that is the fame of Washington. They all recount 
his deeds, ponder over his principles and teachings, and resolve 
to be more and more guided by them in the future. 

To the old and the young, to all born in this land, and to all 
whose preferences have led them to make it the home of their 
4 



38 THE ROSTRUM. 

adoption, Washington is an exhilarating theme. Americans are 
proud of his character ; all exiles from foreign shores are eager 
to participate in admiration of him ; and it is true that he is, this 
day, here, every where, ail over the world, more an object of regard 
than on any former day since his birth. 

Gentlemen, by his example, and under the guidance of his pre- 
cepts, will we and our children uphold the constitution. Under 
his military leadership, our fathers conquered their ancient ene- 
mies ; and, under the outspread banner of his political and consti- 
tutional principles, will we conquer now. To that standard we 
shall adhere, and uphold it, through evil report and good report. 
We will sustain it, and meet death itself, if it come ; we will ever 
encounter and defeat error, by day and by night, in light or in 
darkness, — thick darkness, — if it come, till 



** Danger's troubled night is o'er. 
And the star of peace return." 



XII. — UNITY OF OUR COUNTRY. 



WEBSTER. 



Our country, with all its sectional diversity of views and feel- 
ings, is one. It is one in the rich, manly, vigorous, expressive 
language we speak, which is become the vernacular tongue, as it 
were, of parliamentary eloquence, — the very oldest of constitu- 
tional freedom. It is one in the fame of our fathers, and in the 
historical reminiscences which belong to us as a nation. It is one 
in the political principles of republicanism ; one in the substan- 
tial basis of our manners ; one in the ties of friendship, affinity, 
and blood, binding us together, throughout the whole extent of the 
land, in the associations of trade, of emigration, and of marriage ; 
one in that g^.orious constitution, the best inheritance transmitted 
to us by our fathers, the monument of their wisdom and their vir- 
tue, under whose shelter we live and flourish as a people. 

To this great republic, union is peace, union is grandeur, union 
is power, union is honor, union is every thing which a free-spirited 
and mighty nation should glory to possess. To us all, next to 
independence, next to liberty, next to honor, be we persuaded that 
a cordial and abiding confederacy of the American people is the 
greatest of earthly goods. 

Here, in the eyes of our countrymen and of the world, with the 
Muse of History before us to record our deeds and our words, 
let us, like Hannibal, at the altar of his gods, swear eternal faith- 
fulness to our country, eternal hatred to its foes ! Show we, that 



ON A TASTE FOR READING. 39 

we are wedded to the Union, for weal or for woe, as the fondest 
lover would hug to his heart the bride bound to him in the first 
bright ardor of young possession. We have not purposed to 
embark in this venture only to sail on the smooth surface of a 
summer sea, with hope and pleasure to waft us joyously along; 
but with resolved spirits, ready to meet, like true men, whatever 
of danger may descend upon our voyage, and to stand up gal- 
lantly for the treasure of honor and faith intrusted to our charge. 
Eally we, then, to the stripes and stars, as the symbol of glory to 
ug, and the harbinger of liberty to all the nations of the world ! 
So long as a shred of that sacred standard remains to us, let us 
cling to it, with such undying devotion as the Christian pilgrims 
of the Middle Ao-e cherished for the last frao^ment of the Cross. 
Let us fly to its rescue when periled, whether by foreign or domes- 
tic assault, as they did to snatch the Holy Sepulcher from the 
desecration of the Infidel ! caleb gushing. 



Xni.— ON A TASTE FOR READING. 

If I were to pray for a taste which should stand me in stead 
under every variety of circumstances, and be a source of happi- 
ness and cheerfulness to me through life, and a shield against its 
ills, however things might go amiss, and the world frown upon 
me, it would be a taste for reading. I speak of it, of course, 
only as a worldly advantage, and not in the slightest degree as 
superseding or derogating from the higher office and surer and 
stronger panoply of religious principles — but as a taste, an 
instrument and a mode of pleasurable gratification. Grive a man 
this taste, and the means of gratifying it, and you can hardly 
fail of making a happy man, unless, indeed, you put into his 
hands a most perverse selection of books. You place him in 
contact with the best society in every period of history — with 
the wisest, the wittiest — with the tenderest, the bravest, and 
the purest characters that have adorned humanity. You make 
him a denizen of all nations — a cotemporary of all ages. The 
world has been created for him. 

It is hardly possible but the character should take a higher 
and better tone from the constant habit of associatino; in thouo-ht 

O CD 

with a class of thinkers, to say the least of it, above the aver- 
age of humanity. It is morally impossible but that the manners 
shouid take a tinge of good breeding and civilization from having 
constantly before one's eyes the way in which the best bred and 
the best informed men have talked and conducted themselves in 
their intercourse with one another. There is a gentle but per- 



40 THE ROSTRUM. 

fectly irresistible coercion in a habit of reading well directed, 
over the whole tenor of a man's character and conduct, which 
is not the less effectual because it works insensibly, and because 
it is really the last thing he dreams of. It cannot, in short, be 
better summed up than in the words of the Latin poet : 

'* Emollit mo'res, neo si' nit es'se fe'ros." 

It civilizes the conduct of men, and suffers them not to remain 
barbarous. sir j. f. w. iiersckel. 



XIV. — NECESSITY OF AMERICAN 'FREEDOM. 

It is my belief, my hearers, that Providence has a great design 
for this continent, and for our generation. As the Jews of old, 
as the Apostles, as the Reformers, as our Fathers of 1776, 
so are we, as a race and as a nation, a peculiar people^ and called 
to a high and glorious destiny. We can not falter. We can not 
go back. We are shut up to the necessity of attempting great 
things. We must pluck up courage — put our trust in G-od, and 
go forward. Disciplined for centuries on the shores of the Ger- 
man ocean, and on the rock-bound coasts of Great Britain, our 
race struck some of its shoots in this land ; and here a people has 
grown up, having the wisdom of an old and the vigor of a new- 
born nation, to faifill this great design. 

We speak not thus from vanity. The only reason why it is 
so is to be found in the inscrutable ways and sovereign will 
of Heaven. It is our destiny. Our responsibilities are fearful ; 
but there is no escape. Our age, our race, our institutions, and 
the characteristics of our country, physical, intellectual, moral, 
and religious, — the helplessness and the sufferings of our fellow- 
men, groaning in chains and under grievous wrongs, — call us to 
a glorious destiny. 

YIq are hereditary freemen. We have never been in bondage 
to any man. The blood of the Celts, the Normans, the uncon- 
quered Saxons, before whom Caesar and Charlemagne alike re- 
coiled, mingle their heroic currents alike in our own veins, along 
with that great barbaric stream, which Rome herself could not 
withstand. These were our pri-me'val sires. And after them, in 
our line of succession, came the Puritans, the Covenanters, the 
Non-Conformists, and the Huguenots ; the founders of English 
liberty, and the men of the continental lleformation from Popery, 
and the men of '76: — heritage, descent, and destiny, alike 
glorious ! ' 

A necessity is laid upon us to live as freemen, or not to live 



DANGERS OF OUR PROSPERITY. 41 

at all. Whoever else may forsake the sacred cause, of liberty, 
we at least must live where freemen live, or fall where freemen 
perish ! rev. wm. a. scott, d.d. 



XV. — DANGERS OF OUR PROSPERITY. 

The danger, my countrymen, is that we shall become intoxi- 
cated by our amazing physical triumphs. Because, within the 
memory of most of us, the lightning has been harnessed to the 
newsman's car, and the steam-engine has not only brought the 
ends of the earth into proximity, but has also provided a work- 
ing power, which, requiring no nutriment, and susceptible of no 
fatigue, almost releases living creatures from the necessity of 
toil, — because of these most marvelous discoveries, we are in 
danger of believing that like wonders may be achieved in the 
social and moral world. 

But be it remembered that, in all our discoveries, no substi- 
tute has been found for conscience, and no machine to take the 
place of reason. The telegraph cannot legislate, nor the loco- 
mbtive educate. The mind is still the mind, and must obey its 
own higher laws. Our most pressing needs are such as no mech- 
anism can supply. What we most lack is true, earnest, sincere, 
faithful, loyal, self-sacrificing men. Without these, it is in vain 
that we extend our territory from ocean to ocean, and quarry 
gold as we do rocks. These physical accessions, coming so sud- 
denly upon us, do but increase our peril. Adversity we might 
bear, and be the better for it. But how shall we bear this gush 
of seeming prosperity ? Seeming, I saj^, because time alone can 
determine whether it is real. 

If, my countrymen, with all these excitements, we do not be- 
come a nation of reckless adventurers, — gamblers, perhaps, 
would be the proper word, — if we do not cut ourselves entirely 
loose from our ancient moorino:s, but still hold fast to our intee- 
rity, our very continence will prove that there is still some ster- 
ling virtue left. For never was there so much reason for the 
prayer, " Deliver us from temptation." After all our conquests, 
the most difficult yet remains, — the victory over ourselves. 
We have now to answer, under untried difficulties, that gravest 
of questions, " What constitutes a State ? " And the answer 
must be like that which was given long, long ago : 

*' Not high-raised battlement or labored mound. 
Thick wall or moa^ted gate ; 
Not cities proud, with spires and turrets crowned ; 
Not bays and broad-armed ports. 



42 THE ROSTRUM. 

Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride. 

No ; — men, high-minded men, — 

Men who their duties know, 

But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain." 

TIMOTHY WALKEH. 






XVL — MATERIALISM. 



Mention has been made of the word " materialisiii.'^^ I hold, 
sir, a maxim on this matter which personally I have felt of ex- 
ceeding consequence. It is time the truth had gone forth, to bo 
held as a maxim for evermore, that in proportion to the depth 
OF one's eaith, is the absence of uneasiness because of differ- 
ence OF OPINION. Materialism never arises from knoivledge ; it 
is, on the other hand, a certification of deficiency^ on the part of 
the mind cherishing it. It consists, not in the exposition of any 
positive knowledge, but in the dogmatic assertion, that beyond 
the line of such knowledge there lies nothing more. 

To deal with materialism, then, what is our course? Never 
to deny or undervalue truth distinctly laid down, but to deny 
that what is known is a limit : that the system pretending to be 
everything is, whatever its special value, the everything it pre- 
tends : not to imagine that man ought not to study, the laws of 
Nature, but to show him that beyond these, toward the region 
of sunset, there are powers which made and sustain even the 
entire of nature's fabric — an august Being — even the Father 
of our spirits — with whom, though the seasons change, and those 
stupendous orbs rest not in their courses, there is never variable- 
ness or shadow of turning. professor nichol. 



XVIL— FALSE NOTIONS OF OFFICE. 

Sir, it were melancholy, indeed, if the only path to true glory 
were through official distinction. Were this to become the uni- 
versal sentiment, I should tremble for the dignity of American 
character. Far distant be the day when we shall begin to value 
ourselves chiefly for what is extrinsic and factitious. What senti- 
ment can be more anti-republican ? 

I AM AN American citizen ! Is not this cnou^-h to boast of? 
or must we add, / have a commission — 1 have a diplovia — 1 
carry loritten certificates of my respectability ? Time was when 
the exclamation, / am a Roman citizen! was a passport every 



IMPRESSMENT OF AMERICANS. 43 

where ; and shall we, who acknowledge no aristocracy but that 
of nature, who respect no charter of nobility but that which the 
Almighty has given, by stamping us for men ; shall we, the 
PEOPLE, who call ourselves the fountain of ail honor, and those to 
whom we delegate authority our servants — shall we prostrate 
ourselves before the images our own fiat has set up ? ' 

Away with such a degrading thought ! We underrate our- 
selves as private citizens ; we fail in proper self-respect, when we 
ascribe so much consequence to badges and places. And the evil 
is most pernicious in its influence upon young men, because their 
eyes are most likely to be dazzled by the pomp and circumstance 
of office. It seems to me that patriotism could not breathe a 
purer prayer than that all our youth might grow up and enter upon 
life with a determination to respect themselves for what they are 
intrinsically, and not for what the suffrages of others may make 
them. The individual man, with his immortal hopes and ener- 
gies, would then be every thing, and the tinsel glories of station 
nothing. But now, 

" Proud man. 
Dressed in a little brief authority, 
Plays such fantastic tricks before high Heaven, 
As maiie the angels weep," 

TIMOTHY WALKER, 



XVIIL— IMPRESSMENT OF AMERICANS. 

Sir, the impressment of our seamen by Great Britain is an 
outrage to which we never can submit without national ignominy 
and debasement. This crime of impressment may justly be con- 
sidered — posterity will so consider it — as transcending the 
amount of all the other wrongs we have received. Ships and mer- 
chandise belong to individuals, and may be valued ; may be 
endured as subjects of negotiation. But men are the property 
of the nation. In every American face a part of our country's 
sovereignty is written. It is the living emblem — a thousand 
times more sacred than the nation's flag itself — of its character, 
its independence, and its rights. 

" But," say the British, " we want not your men ; we want 
only our own. Prove that they are yours^ and we will surrender 
them." Baser outrage ! more insolent indignity ! that a free-born 
American must be made to prove his nativity to those who have 
previously violated his liberty, else he is to be held for ever as a 
slave \ That before a British tribunal — a British boarding 



44 THE ROSTRUM. 

officer — a free-born American must be made to seal up the 
vouchers of his lineage, to exhibit the records of his baptism and 
his birth, to establish the identity that binds him to his parents, 
to his blood, to his native land, by setting forth in odious detail 
his size, his age, the shape of his frame, whether his hair is long 
or cropped — his marks — like an ox or a horse of the manger — 
that all this must be done as the condition of his escape from the 
galling thraldom of a British ship ! Can we hear it, can we think 
of it, with any other than indignant feelings at our tarnished 
name and nation ? 

Sir, when this same insatiate foe, in the days of the Revolution, 
landed with seventeen thousand hostile troops upon our shores, 
the Congress of '76 declared our independence, and hurled defiance 
at the martial array of England ! And shall we now hesitate ? 
shall we bow our necks in submission ? shall we make an igno- 
minious surrender of our birthright under the plea that we are 
not prepared to defend it ? No, Americans ! Yours has been a 
pacific republic, and therefore has not exhibited military prepa- 
ration ; but it is a free republic, and therefore will it now, as 
before, soon command battalions, discipline, courage ! Could a 
general of old by only stamping on the earth raise up armies, 
and shall a whole nation of freemen, at such a time, know not 
where to look for them ? The soldiers of Bunker Hill, the soldiers 
of Bennington, the soldiers of the Wabash, the seamen of Tripoli, 
forbid it ! richard rush {Jiciyi, 1812). 



XIX. —WAR SOMETIMES A MORAL DUTY. 

Sir, I dissent from the resolutions before us. I dissent because 
they would pledge me to the utter repudiation of physical force, — 
at all times, in all countries, and under every circumstance. This 
I can not do ; for, sir, when national rights are to be vindicated, 
I do not repudiate the resort to physical force — I do not abhor 
the use of arms. There are occasions when arms alone will suf- 
fice ; — when political ameliorations call for a drop of blood — 
ay, for many thousand drops of blood. 

Opinion, I admit, sir, may be left to operate against opinion. 
But force must be used against force. The soldier is proof 
against an argument, but not against a bullet. The man that 
will listen to reason, let him be reasoned with. But it is only 
the weaponed arm of the patriot, that can prevail against battal- 
ioned despotism. Therefore, sir, I do not condemn the use of 
arms as immoral, nor do I conceive it profane to say, that the 



AGAINST UNDERHAND MEASURES. 45 

King of Heaven, the Lord of Hosts, the God of Battles, be- 
stoAYS his benediction upon those who unsheathe the sword in the 
hour of a nation's peril. 

Be it in the defence, or be it in the assertion, of a people's lib- 
erty, I hail the sword as a sacred weapon ; and if it has some- 
times taken the shape of the serpent, and reddened the shroud of 
the oppressor with too deep a dye, yet, sir, like the anointed rod 
of the High Priest, it has at other times, and as often, blossomed 
into celestial flowers to deck the freeman's brow. 

Abhor the sword ? Stigmatize the sword ? No ! — for in the 
passes of the Ty-rof it cut to pieces the banner of the Bavarian, 
and through those craggy de-files' struck a path to fame for the 
peasant insurrectionist '^^ of Innsbruck ! 

Abhor the sword ? Stigmatize the sword ? No ! — for it 
swept the Dutch marauders out of the fine old towns of Belgium 
— scourged them back to their own phlegmatic swamps, and 
knocked their flag and scepter, their laws and bayonets, into the 
sluggish waters of the Scheldt.! 

Abhor the sword ? Stigmatize the sword ? No ! — for at its 
blow a giant nation started from the waters of the Atlantic, and 
by the redeeming magic of the sword, and in the quivering of its 
crimson light, the crippled colony sprang into the attitude of a 
proud republic — prosperous, limitless, and invincible ! 

THOMAS FKANCIS MEAGHES, 



XI^ — AGAINST UNT)EEHAND IMEASURES. 

Be VIEWING, sir, the political movements in Ireland for some 
years past, it would seem as if those principles of public virtue, 
which give to a people their truest dignity and their surest strength, 
had been systematically decried. Truth has been frittered away 
by expediency, generosity has been supplanted by selfishness, 
self-sacrifice has been lampooned as an ancient folly. 

To repeal the Union, we are told it is essential that repealers 
should take offices ! — to give the minister a decisive blow, it is 
expedient to equip the patriot hand with gold I Strenuously to 
oppose the minister, you must, first of all, beg of the minister, 
then be his very humble^ and, if possible, conclude with being his 
much obliged servant ! The financial statement between the two 
countries can not be properly made out, until some repeal account- 

* Andrew Hofcr, a gallant leader of the Tyrolese Tried by court-martial, 
he was shot by his country's oppressors, Feb. 20, 1810. 
•f Pronounced, vSkeit. 



46 THE ROSTRUM. 

ant has had a friendly intercourse with the Treasury, and a pro- 
pitious acquaintance with the Mint ! 

Impoverished by the Union, beggared by the Union, driven 
to the last extremity of destitution by the Union, it is advisa- 
ble that we should prove all this to the minister and the parlia- 
ment, with our pockets full of salaries, and our family circum- 
stances in full bloom ! 

Denouncing the rapacity of England, we are to share her spoils ! 
Impeaching the minister, we are to become his hirelings ! Claim- 
ing independence, shouting for independence, foaming for inde- 
pendence, we are to crawl to the castle of the Lord Lieutenant, 
and there crave the luxuries and the shackles of the slave ! Thus 
we are told to act ! Thus we are implored to agitate ! This is the 
great, peaceful, moral, and constitutional doctrine ! This, the true 
way to make us the noblest people on the face of the globe, and 
restore Ireland to her place among the nations ! 

Mean, venal, and destructive doctrine ! — teaching the tongue 
that has burned and denounced, to cool and compliment I Mean, 
venal, and destructive doctrine ! — teaching the ]3eople, on their 
march to freedom, to kneel and grovel before the golden idol in 
the desert ! Mean, venal, and destructive doctrine ! — teaching 
whining, teaching flattery, teaching falsehood ! Scout it, spurn 
it, fling it back to the castle from whence it came ! — there let 
it lie, among the treasured instructions of tyranny, and the pre- 
cious revelations of treason ! ib. 



XXL— PATRIOTISM A REALITY. 

Sir, the pursuit of liberty must cease to be a traffic. It must 
resume among us its ancient glory — be with us an active hero- 
ism. Once for all, sir, we must have an end of this money-making 
in the public forum. We must ennoble the strife for liberty ; 
make it a gallant sacrifice, not a vulgar game ; rescue the cause 
of Ireland from the profanation of those who beg, and from the 
control of those who bribe ! 

Ah ! trust not those dull philosophers of the age, those wretched 
skeptics, who, to rebuke our enthusiasm, our folly, would per- 
suade us that patriotism is but a delusion, a dream of youth, a 
wild and glittering passion; that it has died out in this nine- 
teenth century ; that it can not exist with our advanced civiliza- 
tion — with the steam-en 2:ine and free trade ! 

False — false ! — The virtue that gave to Paganism its daz- 
zling lustre, to Barbarism its redeeming trait, to Christianity 



THE RESUKRECTIOX OF ITALY. 47 

its heroic form, is not dead. It still lives, to preserve, to con- 
sole, to sanctify humanity. It has its altar in every clime — its 
worship and festivities. On the heathered hills of Scotland, the 
sword of Wallace is yet a bright tradition. The genius of France, 
in the brilliant literatm^e of the day, pays its high homage to the 
piety and heroism of the young Maid of Orleans. In her new sen- 
ate hall, England bids her sculptor place among the effigies of her 
greatest sons the images of Hampden and of Eussell. By the soft 
blue waters of Lake Lucerne stands the chapel of William Tell. 
At Innsbruck, in the black aisle of the old cathedi-al, the peasant 
of the Tvrol kneels before the statue of Andrew Hofer. In the 
great American republic — in that capital city which bears his 
name — rises the monument of the Father of his coimtrv. 

Sir, shall we not join in this glorious homage, and here in this 
island, consecrated by the blood of many a good and gallant man, 
shall we not have the faith, the duties, the festivities, of patriot- 
ism ? You discard the weapons of these heroic men — do not 
discard the virtues. Elevate the national character; confront 
corruption wherever it appears ; scourge it fi'om the hustings ; 
scourge it from the public forum ; and, whilst proceeding with 
the noble task to which you have devoted your lives and fortunes, 
let this thought enraptui-e and invigorate youi* hearts : That in 
seeking the independence of your country, you have preserved her 
virtue — preserved it at once from the seductions of a powerful 
minister, and fr'om the infidelity of bad citizens. ib. 



XXn. — THE EESURRECTIOX OF UXLY (1847). 

Sir, is there nothing in the events now transpii'ing around us 
to rouse Ireland fr'om her sleep — to stir the blood of her sons ? 
Beyond the Alps a trumpet calls the dead nations of Europe from 
their shrouds. Do you not hear it ? Does it not ring thi'ough 
the soul, and quiver through the brain ? 

Italy — at whose tombs the poets of the Christian world have 
^inelt and received their inspiration — Italy, amid the ruins of 
whose Forum the orators of the world have learnt to sway the 
souls of men — Italy, from whose radiant skies the sculptor di'aws 
down the fii'e that quickens the marble into life — Italv. the 
brave, the beautiful, and the gifted — Italy is in arms ! 

Prostrate for centuries amid the dust of heroes, wasting silently 
away, she has started from her swoon ; for the vestal flame could 
not be extiQguished. Austria — old, decrepid, haggard thief, 



48 THE EO STRUM. 

.i 

clotted with the costly blood of Poland — trembles as she sheathes 
her sword, and plays the penitent within the walls of Ferrara. 

Glory to the citizens of Eome, who have sworn that they prize 
liberty as a treasure to be battled for with their lives ! And glory 
to the maids and matrons of Rome, who bid the chivalry of their 
houses go forth in the righteous cause ! 

And what can Ireland do to aid this brilliant nation in her 
struggle ? In rags, in hunger, and in sickness, — sitting, like a 
widowed queen, amid the shadows of her pillar towers and the 
gray altars of a forgotten creed, — with two millions of her sons 
and daughters lying slain and shroudless at her feet, — what can 
this poor island do ? Weak, sorrowful, treasureless, as she is, I 
believe there are still a few rich drops within her heart that she 
can spare. 

Perish the law that forbids her to give more ! Perish the law 
that, having drained her of her wealth, forbids her to be the bold- 
est spirit in the fight ! Perish the law which, in the language of 
one whose genius I admire, but whose apostasy I shall never imi- 
tate, " converts the island which ought to be the most fortunate 
in the world into a receptacle of suffering and degradation — coun- 
teracting the magnificent arrangement of Providence— frustrating 
the beneficent designs of God ! '' ib. 



XXIII.— ENGLISH LEGISLATION — EUROPEAN EXAMPLES. 

Men of Ireland, a right noble philosophy has taught us that 
God has divided the world into those beautiful systems, called 
nations, each of which, fulfilling its separate mission, becomes an 
essential benefit to the rest. To this divine arrangement will you 
alone refuse to conform, — surrendering the position, renouncing 
the responsibility, which you have been assigned ? 

Shame upon you ! — Switzerland, without a colony, without 
a gun upon the seas, without a helping hand from any court in 
Europe, has held for centuries her footing on the Alps ; spite 
of the avalanche, has made her little territory sustain the children 
to whom she has given birth ; and, though a blood-red cloud is 
breaking, even whilst I speak, over one of her brightest lakes, be 
sure — whatever plague it may portend — be sure of this : the 
cap of foreign despotism will never gleam again in the market- 
place of Altorf. ^ 

Shame upon you ! Norway, with her scanty population, scarce 
a million strong, has kept her flag upon the Categat ; has reared 
a race of gallant sailors to guard her frozen soil ; year after 
year has nursed upon that soil a harvest to which the Swede can 



THE TRANSPOETATION OF >.nTCHEL. 49 

lay no claim ; has saved lier ancieut laws, and to the spirit of 
liLT frank and hardy sons commits the freedom which she rescued 
from the allied swords when they hacked her crown at Frederick- 
Btadt ! 

Shame upon you ! Greece, " whom the Groth, nor Turk, nor 
Time hath spared," has torn the crescent from the Acrop'olis ; 
has crowned a king in Athens, whom she calls her own; has 
taught you that a nation should never die ; that not for an idle 
pageant has the blood of heroes flowed ; that not to vex a school- 
boy's brain, nor smoulder in a heap of learned dust, has the fire 
of heaven issued from the trib'une's tonone ! 

And you — you, who are eight millions strong — you, who 
have no avalanche to dread - — you, Vv'lio might cull a plenteous 
harvest fr'cm your soil, and with the sickle strike away the scythe 
of death — you, who have thus been prompted to all that is wise, 
generous, and great — you will make no efibrt ; you will whine, 
and beg, and skulk, in sores and rags, upon this favored land ; 
you will congregate in drowsy councils, and, when the very earth 
is loosening beneath your feet, you will respectfully suggest new 
clauses and amendments to some blundering bill; you will mort- 
gage ih.2 last acre of your estates ; you will bid a prosperous 
voyage to your last grain of corn; you will be beggared by the 
million ; you will perish by the thousand ; and the finest island 
which the sun looks down upon, amid the jeers and hootings of 
the world, will blacken into a plague-spot, a wilderness, a sepul- 
cher ! ib. 



XXrV.— TTTE TRANSPORTATION OF ]!tIITCHEL. 

Who speaks to Ireland of depression ? Banish it ! Let not 
the banners droop, let not the battalions reel, when the young 
chief is down ! You have to avenge that falL Until that fill 
shall have been avenged, a sin blackens the soul of the nation, and 
repels from our cause the sympathies of every gallant people. 

For one, I am pledged to follow him. Once again they shall 
have to pack their jury-box ; once again exhibit to the world 
the frauds and mockeries, the tricks and perjuries, upon which 
their power is based. In this island the English never — never 
shall have rest ! The work, begun by the Norman, never shall 
be completed ! 

G-eneration transmits to generation the holy passion which pants 

for liberty, which frets against oppression. From the blood which 

drenched the scafi'olds of 1798 the felons of this year have sprung. 

Should their blood flow, peace, and loyalty, and debasement, 

5 



50 THE KOSTKUM. 

may here, for a lime, resmne their reign ; the snows of a winter, 
the flowers of a summer, may clothe the proscribed graves ; but 
from those graves there shall hereafter be an armed resurrec- 
tion. 

Peace, loyalty, and debasement, forsooth ! A stagnant society, 
'breeding in its bosom slimy, sluggish things which make their 
way by stealth to the surface, and there creep, cringe, and glitter 
in the glare of a provincial royalty ! Peace, loyalty, and debase- 
ment I A mass of pauperism, shoveled off the land, stocked in 
fever-sheds and poor-houses, shipped to Canadian swamps — rags, 
pestilence, and vermin ! Behold the rule of England, — and, in 
that rule, behold humanity dethroned, and Providence blas- 
phemed ! 

To keep up this abomination, they enact their laws of felony. 
To sweep away the abomination, we mxust break through their 
laws. Should tlio laws fail, they will hedge in the abomination 
with their bayonets and gibbets. These too shall give way before 
the torrent of fire which gathers in the soul of the people. The 
question so long debated — debated years ago on fields of blood 
— debated latterly in a venal senate amid the jeers and yells of 
faction - — the question as to who shall be the owners of this 
island, must be this year determined. The end is at hand, and 
SO — unite andv arm ! ib. 



XXV.— THE VOICE OF HISTORY. 

Of all the sciences, gentlemen, history is that which is always 
advancing. Mathematics and philosophical improvements may 
be long at a stand ; poetry and the arts are often stationary, often 
retrograde ; but every year, every month, every day, is contrib- 
uting its knowledge to the grand magazine of historical experi- 
ence. Look at vv^hat the last years have added, and behold how 
history accumulates as she rolls along — what new attractions she 
holds forth to mankind ! But with what an accession of beauty 
she invites us to the study of her charms, while she recounts the 
acts and the heroism of our own ancestry ! 

Let the energies of our country become extinct ; let her armies 
be overwhelmed ; let her navy become the spoil of the enemy 
and the ocean ; let the national credit become a byword ; let 
the last dregs of an exhausted treasury be wrung from her cof- 
fers ; let the constitution crumble ; let the enemy ride in her 
capital, and her frame fall asunder in political dissolution ; — then 
stand with history on one hand, and oratory on the other, over the 



OUR COMMON SCHOOLS. 51 

graye in which her energies lie entombed, — and cry aloud ! Tell 
her that there was a time when the soul of a Briton would not 
bend before the congregated world ; tell her that she once called 
her sons around her, and wrung the charter of her liberties from a 
reluctant despot's hand ; tell her that she was the parent of the 
band of brothers that fought on Crispin's day ; tell her that 
Spain sent forth a nation upon the seas against her, and that Eng- 
land and the elements overwhelmed it ; tell her that six centu- 
ries were toiling to erect the edifice of her constitution, and that 
at length the temple arose ; tell that there are plains in every 
quarter of the globe where victory has buried the bones of her 
heroes ; 

*' That the spirits of her fathers 
Shall start from every wave, 
For the deck it was their field of fame, 
And ocean was thek grave ! ' ' 

Tell her that when the enemy of human liberty arose, the free- 
dom of the whole world took refuo;e with her ; that with an arm 
of victory, alone and unaided, she flung back the usurper, till 
recreant Europe blushed with shame ; — tell her all this ; and I 
say that the power of lethargy must be omnip'otent, if she does 
not shake the dust from her neck, and rise in flames of annihilat- 
ing vengeance on her destroyer. 

For the reader of history, every hero has fought, every phi- 
losopher has instructed, every legislator has organized. Every 
blessing was bestowed, every calamity was inflicted, for his 
information. In public, he is in the audit of his counselors, and 
enters the senate with Per'i-cles, Solon, and Lycurgus, about him ; 
in private, he walks among the tombs of the mighty dead ; and 
every tomb is an oraclOo But who is he that should pronounce 
this awakening call ? who is he whose voice should be the trumpet 
and war-cry to an enslaved and degraded nation ? — It should be 
the voice of such a one as he who stood over slumbering Greece, 
and uttered a note at which Athens started from her indolence, 
Thebes roused from her lethargies, and Macedon trembled. 

REV. CIIARLSS WOLES. 



XXVI. — OUS COMMON SCHOOLS. 

Sir, it is our common schools which give the keys of knowl- 
edge to the mass of the people. Our common schools are import- 
ant in the same way as the common air, the common sunshine, 
the common rain, — - invaluable for their commonness. They are 
the corner-stone of that municipal organization which is the char- 



52 THE ROSTRUM. 

acteristic feature of our social system ; they are the fountain of 
that wide-spread intelligence which, like a moral life, pervades 
the country. 

From the humblest village school, there may go forth a teacher 
who, like Newton, shall bind his temples with the stars of 0-ri'on's 
belt ; with Herschel, light up his cell with the beams of before 
undiscovered planets; with Franklin, grasp the lightning. Co- 
lumbus, fortified with a few sound geographical principles, was, 
on the deck of his crazy caravel, more truly the monarch of 
Castile and Aragon, than Ferdinand and Isabella, enthroned 
beneath the golden vaults of the conquered Alhambra. And 
.Kobinson, with the simple training of a rural pastor in England, 
when he knelt on the shore of Delft Haven, and sent his little 
flock upon their Grospel errantry beyond the world of waters, 
exercised an influence over the destinies of the civilized world, 
which will last to the end of time. 

Sir, it is a solemn, a tender and sacred duty, that of educa- 
tion. What, sir, feed a child's body, and let his soul hunger ! 
pamper his limbs, and starve his faculties ! Plant the earth, 
cover a thousand hills with your droves of cattle, pursue the fish 
to their hiding-places in the sea, and spread out your wheat- 
fields across the plain, in order to supply the wants of that body 
which will soon be as cold and as senseless as the poorest clod, 
and let the pure spiritual essence within you, with all its glori- 
ous capacities for improvement, languish and pine ! What ! 
"build factories, turn in rivers upon the water-wheels, unchain 
the imprisoned spirits of steam, to weave a garment for the body, 
and let the soul remain unadorned and naked ! What ! send out 
your vessels to the farthest ocean, and make battle with the 
monsters of the deep, in order to obtain the means of lighting up 
jour dwellings and work-shops, and prolonging the hours of labor 
for the meat that perisheth, and permit that vital spark, which 
Grod has kindled, which He has intrusted to our care, to be 
fanned into a bright and heavenly flame, — permit it, I say, to 
languish and go out ! 

What considerate man can enter a school, and not reflect 
with awe, that it is a seminary where immortal minds are train- 
ing for eternity ? What parent but is, at times, weighed down 
with the thought, that there must be laid the foundations of a 
building which will stand, when not merely temple and palace, 
but the perpetual hills and adamantine rocks on which they rest, 
have melted away ! — tha t a light may there be kindled, which 
will shine, not merely when every artificial beam is extinguished, 
but when the afi"righted sun has fled away from the heavens ! I 



THE PEOPLE ALWAYS CONQUEPv. 53 

can add nothing, sir, to this consideration. I will only say, in 
conclusion. Education, — - when we feed that lamp, we perform 
the highest social duty ! If we quench it, I know not where 
(humanly speaking), for time or for eternity, — 

" I know not where is that Pro-me'the-an heat, 
That can its light relume ! " 

EDWARD EVERETT. 



XXVIL — THE PEOPLE ALWAYS CONQUER. 

Sir, in the efforts of the people, — of the people struggling for^ 
their rights, — moving, not in organized, disciplined masses, but 
in their spontaneous action, man for man,^and heart for heart,—- 
there is something glorious. They can then move forward with- 
out orders, act together without combination, and brave the 
flaming lines of battle without intrenchm.ents to cover or walls to 
shield them. No dissolute camp has worn off from the feel- 
ings of the youthful soldier the freshness of that home, where his 
mother and his sisters sit waiting, with tearM eyes and aching 
hearts, to hear good news from the wars ; no long service in the 
ranks of a conqueror has turned the veteran's heart into mar- 
ble. Their valor springs not from recklessness, from habit, from 
indifference to the preservation of a life knit by no pledges 
to the life of others ; but in the strength and spirit of the cause 
alone, they act, they contend, they bleed. In this they conquer. 

The people always conquer. They always must conquer. 
Armies may be liefeated, kings may be overthrown, and new 
dynasties imposed, by foreign arms, on an ignorant and slavish 
race, that care not in what language the covenant of their sub- 
jections runs, nor in whose name the deed of their barter and 
sale is made out. But the people never invade ; and, when they 
rise against the invader, are never subdued. If they are driven 
from the plains, they fly to the m.ountainSo Steep rocks and 
everlasting hills are their castles ; the tangled, pathless thicket 
their palisado ; and nature, God, is their ally ! Now He over- 
whelms the hosts of their enemies beneath his drifting mountains 
of sand ; now He buries them beneath a falling atmosphere of 
polar snows ; He lets loose His tempests on their fleets ; He puts 
a folly into their counsels, a madness into the hearts of their 
leaders; He never gave, and never will give, a final triumph 
over a virtuous and gallant people, resolved to be free. ib, 

*' For Freedom's battle once begun, 
Bequeathed from bleeding sire to son. 
Though baffled oft, is ever won." 

5^ • 



54 THE ROSTRUM. 



XXVIIL— WAR UNSANCTIONED BY CHRISTIANITY. 

Where, sir, in what page of its records, does Cliristianitj 
sanction war ? Is it in the angels' song at the birth of Christ, 
" Grlory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will to 
men " ? Is it in the benediction promised by our Divine Lord 
on the peace-makers ? Is it in his command to love our enemies, 
and, when smitten on one cheek, to turn, without resistance or 
revenge, the other to the offender ? Is it, in short, in the whole 
genius and spirit of Christianity ? Is it not strange that Chris- 
tianity should have been eighteen centuries delivering its lessons 
in our world, and that men should be so ignorant of its nature 
and duties, as to need to be told that it is hostile to the spirit of 
war ? . 

It is this propensity to hostility, on the part of so many who 
profess Christianity, that has alienated so many from it, and fos- 
tered the infidelity of the age. How often are we met with the 
taunt, that Christendom has been as deeply involved in this 
dreadful practice as the pagan and Mahometan nations. We 
deplore the fact ; but we deny that it is sanctioned by the New 
Testament. Tell us not of the foul deeds that have been perpe- 
trated in the name of Christianity; — that her princes have been 
ambitious, and her priests rapacious ; that one has drawn the 
sword and unfurled the banner under the benediction of the 
other ; and that both have met in the camp, the crusade, and the 
battle-field, covered with blood, and reveling in slaughter. The 
question is not what her sacred name has been abused to sanc- 
tify; but has it been performed by her authority, has it accorded 
with her principles, and been congenial with her spirit ? Shall 
those who have violated her maxims, set at defiance her com- 
mands, despised her remonstrances, and stifled her cries, — shall 
they be allowed to plead her authority in justification of their 
doings? Not only Christianity herself, but common honesty 
says, No. 

I know very well there are four millions of men under arms 
in Europe ; I know also what a seemingly petty incident may 
call all those to deadly strife ; and it is quite possible, if not even 
probable, that a deadly struggle may impend. Still, the reign 
of peace is coming. Many a bright and beautiful day has been 
ushered in by a terrific thunder=storm, and while the thunders 
were rolling, day was advancing behind the cloud that sent them 
forth. Let Europe be again involved in battle and bloodshed, 
still here in this our congress is the dawn of the day of peace. 
Take courage, then, Christian brethren, in carrying on your paci- 



THE MOTHER OF EMPIRES. 55 

fie schemes. Your children, or your children's children, may 
hear the last peals of war die away amid the shouts of uniYersal 
peace, and see the commencement of the millen nial period of gen- 
eral brotherhood, when Christians, blushing over the crimes of 
former generations, shall hasten to hide the memorials of their 
shame, and upon the anvil of revelation shall, with the brawny 
arra of reason, "beat the swords into plowshares, and the spears 
into pruning-hooks." key. john axgell james. 



XXIX.— THE MOTHER OF EjMPIRES. 

At the Pvailroad Celebration in Boston, September 10, 1851. 

Sir, it is impossible to live as long as I have in America with- 
out entering very keenly into the feelings of pride and gratifica- 
tion with which Americans, and Canadians too, talk of their 
country. It is wonderfully progressing, and has wonderful re- 
sources. But when I hear boastful langTiage indulged in, par- 
taking of a tone somewhat disparaging as respects other coun- 
tries, less advantageously situated, I cannot help thinking of an 
eloquent passage in the writings of my most eloquent friend, now 
no more, the late Dr. Chalmers, in which he refers to the simul- 
taneous discovery of the telescope and the microscope. He 
dilates in gorgeous and emphatic language upon the vast lights 
shed by each in its respective sphere upon the beneficence, the 
wisdom, and the power, of the Almighty. So would I say to such 
a speaker as I have just referred to : 

Sir, when you have satisfied your gaze by contem^'plating the 
magnificent scene spread out before you ; when, with the aid of 
the telescope, you have scanned those mighty prairies which the 
plowshare has not yet broken ; when you have cast your eye 
upon those boundless forests which the ax has not yet touched ; 
when you have traveled over those extensive territories which 
are underlain by valuable mineral fields which the cupidity of 
man has not yet rifled ; when you have gazed upon all these to 
your hearts content, just lay your telescope aside^ and take this 
little microscope from me, and I will show you a little island, far 
hidden behind that Eastern wave ; an island so diminutive that 
you might take it up bodily, and toss it into the lakes which lie 
between the Canadas and the United States, without filling them 
up ; but which, nevertheless, was the source whence came forth 
the valor and the might which laid on this continent the founda- 
tion of empires. 



56 THE ROSTRUM. 

Permit me to say, in conclusion, that all history and all wis- 
dom have shown that without love of liberty, without respect for 
order and for law, you can have no sufficient security that your 
empire will prove enduring. lord elgin. • 



XXX. — SARCASMS AGAINST REFORM. 

Gentlemen, it is the fate of every good cause to encounter 
sarcasm. Let us remember that, to avoid this kind of attack, 
we must have on our side that which is impossible and contradic- 
tory ; that is, we ought to have for our allies' all th*e errors and 
all the passions which mislead the world ; we ought to clash with 
nothing,'* to deny nothing, to be in no one's way ; in a word, we 
ought to be nothing. 

Point me out the good cause which at its advent was not the 
object of raillery,! and which was not assailed by similar derision. 
Not one ! No, not one, from one end of history to the other. 
When the Truth Incarnate appeared in the world, when the 
Son of Grod descended upon earth, how was he received by micn ? 
With wrong, with sarcasm, with blas'phemy in their mouths, which 
they hurled at him. What did they say to him ? " Thou art 
thyself possessed of a devil, and dost thou cast out devils ? Phy- 
sician, cure thyself ! " Yes ! and at that awful and sublime 
moment when he was carrying out his devotedness to man, to the 
extreme limit even of self-sacrifice, at the moment of his death, 
what did the scoiFers shout in his ears ? ^ * He saved others ; 
himself he cannot save ! If thou art tlie Son of God, come down 
from the cross ! " 

Ah ! doubtless he had the power of doing so. He might, even 
in that moment of agony, have manifested himself in all his glory ; 
have confounded his enemies ; have overwhelmed and annihilated 
them with the dazzling blaze of his omnipotency. But no ; he 
would not. And what was his reply to sarcasm, and scorn, and 
con'tu-mely ? 

Not a word, but a fact. He died ! He, om^nip'otent as he was, 
remained motionless, nailed to the cross, and then gave up the 
ghost. Y\^ith divine calmness he completed his work. He did 
not save himself; he saved man. And this was his reply to sar- 
casm. 

Gentlemen, I do not compare, I do not presume to institute a 
comparison, between the work of the Hedeemer and that of our 

* Nothing, pronounce niithing ; nnyie, nun. f Pronounce ral lery. 



THE FUTURE OF AMERICA. 57 

peace society. Such a comparison would not be permitted me. 
But our Divine Master set us an example ; and, as he has himself 
told us, he set us that example, that we should follow it. Let us do 
so, then ; let us do so perseveringly. In spite of all the raillery 
and sarcasm of the worldly wise, let us persevere in an enterprise 
which we know to be good and just, and which we think it is our 
duty to prosecute to the end. Yes, let us all persevere ; minis- 
ters of religion, instructors of youth, conductors of the public press ; 
let us persevere in the straight path of conscience and of truth, 
and let us not be one instant diverted from our purpose and our 
course by the fear of a sarcasm. Let us bring to bear all the 
influence that our speech or our pen may possess, to advance this 
great and sacred cause of permanent and universal peace 

FROM THE PHENCH OF REV. ATHANASE COQUERELo 



XXXI.— THE FUTURE OF AMERICA. 

Fellow-citizens, the houi*s of this day are rapidly flying, and 
this occasion ^ will soon be passed. Neither we nor our children 
can expect to behold its return. They are in the distant regions 
of futurity, they exist only in the all-creating power of God, who 
shall stand here, a hundred years hence, to trace, through us, 
their descent from the Pilgrims, and to survey, as we have now 
surveyed, the progress of their country during the lapse of a cen- 
tury. We would anticipate their concurrence with us in our 
sentiments of deep regard for our common ancestors. We would 
anticipate and partake the pleasure with which they will then 
recount the steps of New England's advancement. On the morn- 
ing of that day, although it will not disturb us in our repose, the 
voice of acclamation and gratitude, commencing on the rock of 
Plymouth, shall be transmitted through millions of the sons of the 
Pilgrims, till it lose itself in the murmurs of the Pacific seas. 

We would leave for the consideration of those who shall then 
occupy our places some proof that we hold the blessings trans- 
mitted from our fathers in just estimation ; some proof of our 
attachment to the cause of good government, and of civil and 
religious liberty ; some proof of a sincere and ardent desire to 
promote every thing which may enlarge the understandings and 
improve the hearts of men. And when, from the long distance 
of a hundred years, they shall look back upon us, they shall 
know, at least, that we possessed afiections, which, running back- 

* The centennial celebration of the Landing of the Pilgrims, Dec. 22, 1820, 



58 THE ROSTRUM. 

ward and warming with gratitude for what our ancestors have 
done for our happiness, run forward also to our posterity, and 
meet them with cordial salutation, ere yet they have arrived on 
the shore of being. 

Advance, then, ye future generations ! We would hail you, as 
you rise in your long succession, to fill the places which we now 
fill, and to taste the blessings of existence where we are passing, 
and soon shall have passed, our own human duration. We bid 
you welcome to this pleasant land of the Fathers. We bid you 
welcome to the healthful skies and the verdant fields of New Eng- 
land. We greet year accession to the great inheritance which 
we have enjoyed. We welcome you to the blessings of good gov- 
ernment and religious liberty. We welcome you to the treasures 
of science and the delights of learning. We welcome you to the 
transcendent sweets of domestic life — to the happiness of kindred, 
and parents, and children. We welcome you to the immeasur- 
able blessings of rational existence, the immortal hope of Chris- 
tianity, and the light of everlasting truth ! webster. 



XXXII. — THE INTEMPERATE HUSBAND. 

It is, my friends, in the degradation of a husband by intempe- 
rance, above all, that she, who has ventured every thing, feels that 
every thing is lost. Woman, silent-suffering, devoted woman, 
here bends to her direst affliction. The measure of Mr woe is in 
truth full, whose husband is a drunkard. Who shall protect her, 
when he is her insulter, her oppressor ? What shall delight her, 
when she shrinks from the sight of his face, and trembles at the 
sound of his voice ? The hearth is indeed dark, that he has made 
desolate. There, through the dull midnight hour, her griefs are 
whispered to herself, her bruised heart bleeds in secret. There, 
while the cruel author of her distress is drowned in distant revel- 
ry, she holds her solitary vigil, waiting, yet dreading his return 
that will only wring from her by his unkindness tears even more 
scalding than those she sheds over his transgression. 

To fiing a deeper gloom across the present, memory turns back, 
and broods upon the past. Like the recollection to the sun-stricken 
pilgrim of the cool spring that he drank at in the morning, the 
joys of other days come over her, as if only to mock her parched 
and weary spirit. She recalls the ardent lover, whose graces won 
her from the home of her infancy ; the enraptured father, who 
bent with such delight over his new-born children ; and she asks 
if this can really be he — this sunken being, who has now nothing 



TAYLOPw AT BUENA VISTA. 59 

fdr Ker but the sot's disgusting brutality — nothing for those abashed 
and trembling children, but the sot's disgusting example ! 

Can we wonder that, amid these agonizing moments, the tender 
cords of violated affection should snap asunder ? that the scorned 
and deserted wife should confess, '' there is no killing like that 
which kills the heart"? — that, though it would have been hard 
for her to kiss for the last time the cold lips of her dead husband, 
and lay his body for ever in the dust, it is harder to behold 
him so debasing life, that even his death would be greeted in 
mercy ? 

Had he died in the light of his goodness, bequeathing to his 
family the inheritance of an untarnished name, the example of 
virtues that should blossom for his sons and daughters from the 
tomb — though she would have wept bitterly indeed, the tears of 
grief would not have been also the tears of shame. But to behold 
him, fallen away from the station he once adorned, degraded from 
eminence to ignominy — at home, turning his dwelling to dark- 
ness, and its holy endearments to mockery — abroad, thrust from 
the companionship of the worthy, a self-branded outlaw — this is 
the woe that the wife feels is more dreadful than death, that 
she mourns over as worse than widowhood. 

CHARLES SPKAGUE. 



XXXIII. — TAYLOR AT BUENA WSTA. 

Perhaps in the history of the world the power of a single will 
was never more triumphantly exhibited than it was at Buena 
Vista. Taylor had been advised to fall back for safety on Mon- 
terey — stripped of some of his best troops, far advanced in 
the enemies' country, with an army numbering only about four 
thousand, and but one third of them regulars ; with no reserved 
force to support him ; with the intelligence brought in that Santa 
Axina, at the head of twenty thousand men, was marching against 
him ; then he took his position in a gorge of the Sierra Madre, 
and determined to meet the shock of battle. He would neither 
retreat nor resign ; he would fight. 

There flashed forth a great spirit ! The battle came ; the odds 
vv^ere fearful ; but who could doubt the result when American 
troops stood in that modern Thermopylae, and in the presence of 
such a leader? It was in vain that Mexican artillery played 
upon their ranks, or Mexican infantry bore down with the bayo- 
net, or Mexican lancers charged. The spirit of the great leader 



60 THE EOSTRUM. 

pervaded the men who fought with him, and a single glance of 
his eye could reanimate a wavering column. 

Like Napoleon at the Danube, he held his men under fire 
because he was exposed to it himself; and like him, wherever he 
rode along the lines mounted on a white charger, a conspicuous 
mark for balls, men would stand and be shot down, but they 
would not give way. Of Taylor on that day it may be said, as 
it has been said of Lannes at Montebello, " He was the rock of that 
battle-field, around vfhich men stood with a tenacity which nothing 
could move. If he had fallen, in five minutes that battle would 
have been a rout." That battle closed Gen. Taylor's military 
career, and that battle alone gives him a title to immortality. 

H. W. HILLIARD. 



XXXIV. —LITERARY PURSUITS. 

You will perhaps be told, fellow-students, that literary pursuits 
will disqualify you for the active business of life. Heed not the 
idle assertion. Reject it as a mere imagination, inconsistent with 
principle, unsupported by experience. Point out to those who 
make it, the illustrious characters who have reaped in every age 
the highest honors of studious and active exertion. Show them 
Demosthenes, forging by the light of the midnight lamp those 
thunderbolts of eloquence which 

" Shook the arsenal, and fulmined over Greece — 
To Macedon and Artaxerxes' throne." 

Ask them if Cicero would have been hailed with rapture as the 
father of his country, if he had not been its pride and pattern in 
philosophy and letters. Inquire whether Cassar, or Frederick, or 
Bonaparte, or Wellington, or Washington, fought the worse be- 
cause they knew how to write their own commentaries. Hemind 
them of Franklin, tearing at the same time the lightning from 
heaven, and the scepter from the hands of the oppressor. 

Do they say to you that study will lead you to skepticism ? 
Recall to their memory the venerable names of Bacon, Milton, 
Newton, and Locke. Would they persuade you that devotion to 
learning will withdraw your steps from the paths of pleasure ? 
Tell them they are mistaken. Tell them that the only true pleas- 
ures are those which result from the diligent exercise of all the 
faculties of body, and mind, and heart, in pursuit of noble ends by 
noble means. Repeat to them the ancient apologue of the youthful 
Hercules, in the pride of strength and beauty, giving up his gen- 



DEFENSE OF MR. IVIADISON. 61 

erous soul to the worship of yirtue. Tell them your choice is also 
made. Tell them, with the illustrious Eoman orator, you would 
rather be in the wrong with Plato, than in the right with Epicurus. 
Tell them that a mother in Sparta would have rather seen her son 
brought home from battle a corpse upon his shield, than dishon- 
ored by its loss. Tell them that your mother is -America, your 
battle the warfare of life, your shield the breastplate of Religion. 

A. H. EVEHETT. 



XXXV.— DEFENSE OF MH. MADISON. 

You object to Mr, Madison, the want of energy. The want 
of energy ! How has Mr. Madison shown it ? Was it in stand- 
ing abreast with the van of our Revolutionary patriots, and brav- 
ing the horrors of a seven years' war for liberty, while you were 
shuddering at the sound of the storm, and clinging closer with 
terror to your mothers' breasts ? V/as it, on the declaration of 
our independence, in being among the first and most effective 
agents in casting aside the feeble threads which so poorly con- 
nected the states together, and, in lieu of them, substituting that 
energetic bond of union, the Federal Constitution ? Was it in 
the manner in which he advocated the adoption of this substitute ; 
in the courage and firmness with which he met, on this topic, 
fought hand to hand, and finally vanquished, that' boasted prod- 
igy of nature, Patrick Henry ? 

Is this the proof of his want of energy? Or will you find it in 
the manner in which he watched the first movements of the Fed- 
eral Constitution ? He was then in a minority. Turn to the 
debates of Congress, and read his arguments : you will see how 
the business of a virtuous and able minority is conducted. Do 
you discover in them any evidence of want of energy ? Yos ; 
if energy consist, as you seem to think it does, in saying rude 
things, in bravado and bluster, in pouring a muddy torrent of 
coarse invective, as destitute of argument as unwarranted by 
provocation, you will find great evidence of want of energy in 
his speeches. 

But, if true energy be evinced, as we think it is, by the calm 
and dignified, yet steady, zealous, and persevering pursuit of an 
object, his whole conduct during that period is honorably marked 
with energy. And that energy rested on the most solid and 
. durable basis — conscious rectitude; supported by the most pro- 
found and extensive information, by an habitual power of inves- 
tigation, which unraveled, with intuitive certainty, the most 
6 



62 THE ROSTRUM, 

intricate subjects; and an eloquence, chaste, luminous, and 
cogent, which won respect, while it forced conviction. 

But what an idea is yours of energy ! You feel a constitu- 
tional irritability ; — you indulge it, and you call that indulgence 
energy! Sudden fits of spleen, transient starts of passion, wild 
paroxysms of .fury, the more slow and secret workings of envy 
and resentment, cruel taunts and sarcasms, the dreams of disor- 
dered fancy, the crude abortions of short-sighted theory, the 
delirium and ravings of a hectic fever, — this is your notion of 
energy ! Heaven preserve our country from such energy as this ! 
If this be the kind of energy which you deny to Mr. Madison, 
the people will concur in your denial. But, if you deny him 
that salutary energy which qualifies him to pursue his country's 
happiness and to defend her rights, we follow up the course of 
his public life, and demand the proof of your charge. 

WM. WIRT. 



XXXVI. — LAW THE POWER OF ALL. 

If, fellow-citizens, whenever the pride of a state is offended, or 
her selfishness rebuked, she may assume an attitude of defiance, 
may pour her rash and angry menaces on her confederated sisters, 
may claim a sovereignty altogether independent of them, and 
acknowledge herself to be bound to the Union by no ties but such 
as she may dissolve at pleasure, we do indeed hold our political 
existence by a most precarious tenure, and the future destinies 
of our country are as dark and uncertain as the past have been 
happy and glorious. 

Happy is that country, fellow-citizens, and only that, where 
the laws are not only just and equal, but supreme and irresisti- 
ble ; where selfish interests and disorderly passions are curbed 
by an arm to which they must submit. We look back with hor- 
ror and affright to the dark and troubled ages when a cruel and 
gloomy superstition tyrannized over the people of Europe ; dreaded 
alike by kings and people, by governments and individuals ; before 
which the law had no force, justice no respect, and mercy no 
influence. The sublime precepts of morality, the kind and en- 
dearing charities, the true and rational reverence for a bountiful 
Creator, which are the elements and the life of our religion, were 
trampled upon, in the reckless career of ambition, pride, and the 
lust of power. Nor was it much better when the arm of the 
warrior and the sharpness of his sword determined every ques- 
tion of right, and held the weak in bondage to the strong ; and 
the revengeful feuds of the great involved in one common ruin 



FATE OF THE INDIANS. 63 

themselves and their humblest vassals. These disastrous days 
are gone, never to return. There is no power but the Law^ which 
is the power of all ; and those who administer it are the masters 
and the ministers of all. Joseph hopkinson. 



XXXVII.— FATE OF THE INDIANS. 

In the fate of the Aborigines ^ of our country — the Ameri- 
can Indians — there is much, fellow-citizens, to awaken our sym- 
pathy, and much to disturb the sobriety of our judgment ; much 
which may be urged to excuse their own atrocities ; much in 
their characters which betrays us into an involuntary admira- 
tion. If they had the vices of savage life, they had the virtues 
also. They were true to their country, their friends, and their 
homes. If they forgave not injury, neither did they forget kind- 
ness. If their vengeance was terrible, their fidelity and generosity 
were unconquerable also. Their love, like their hate, stopped 
not on this side of the grave. 

But where are they ? Where are the villages, and warriors, 
and youth? the sachems and tribes? the hunters and their 
families ? They have perished ! They are consumed. The 
wasting pestilence has not alone done the mighty work. No, — 
nor famine nor war. There has been a mightier power, a moral 
canker, which hath eaten into their heart=cores — a plague, which 
the touch of the white man communicated — a poison, which 
betrayed them into a lingering ruin. The winds of the Atlantic 
fan not a single region which they may now call their own. 

Already the last feeble remnants of the race are preparing for 
their journey beyond the Mississippi. I see them leave their miser- 
able homes, the aged, the helpless, the women, and the warriors, 
"few and faint, yet fearless still." The ashes are cold on their 
native hearths. The smoke no longer curls round their lowly cab- 
ins. They move on with a slow, unsteady step. The .white man 
is upon their heels, for terror or dispatch ; but they heed him not. 
They turn to take a last look of their deserted villages. They 
cast a last glance upon the graves of their fathers. They shed 
no tears ; they utter no cries ; they heave no groans. There is 
something in their hearts which passes speech. There is some- 
thing in their looks, not of vengeance or submission, but of hard 
necessity, which stifles both ; which chokes all utterance ; which 
has no aim or method. It is courage absorbed in despair. They 
linger but for a moment. Their look is onward. They have 

* Pronounced ah-o-rij'i-nts. 



64 THE ROSTRUM. 



passed the fatiil stream. It shall never be repassed by them, — 
no, never. Yet there lies not between us and them an'impassa- 
ble gulf. They know and feel that there is for them still one 
remove farther, not distant, not unseen : it is to the general burial 
ground of their race. judge story. 



1 



XXXVIII. — MORAL ATTRIBUTES OF WASHINGTON. 

Sir, it was not solid information or sound judgment, or even 
that rare combination of surpassing modesty and valor, great as 
these qualities are, which gave Washington his hold on the re- 
gard, respect, and confidence, of the American people. I hazard 
nothing in saying that it was the high moral elements of his 
character, which imparted to it its preponderating force. " Labor 
to keep alive in your breast that little spark of celestial fire, 
conscience,''^ was one of a series of maxims which he framed or 
copied for his own use, when a boy. He kept alive that spark. 
He made it shine before men. He kindled it into a flame which 
illumined his whole life. No occasion was so momentous, no 
circumstances were so minute, as to absolve him from following 
its guiding ray. 

Who ever thinks of Washington as a mere politician ? Who 
ever associates him with the petty arts and pitiful intrigues of 
partisan office-seekers or partisan office-holders? Who ever pic- 
tures him canvassing for votes, dealing out proscription, or doling 
out patronage ? 

And there was as little of the vulgar hero about him, as there 
was of the mere politician. At the head of a victorious army, 
of which he was the idol, — an army too often provoked to the 
very verge of mutiny, by the neglect of an inefficient govern- 
ment, — we find him the constant counselor of subordination, 
and submission to the civil authority. With the sword of a con- 
queror at his side, we find him the unceasing advocate of peace. 
Repeatedly invested with more than the power of a Roman Dic- 
tator, we see him receiving that power with reluctance, employ- 
ing it with the utmost moderation, and eagerly embracing the 
earliest opportunity to resign it. The offer of a crown could not, 
did not tempt him, for an instant, from his allegiance to liberty. 
He rejected it with indignation and abhorrence, and proceeded 
to devote all his energies, and all his influence, all his popularity, 
and all his ability, to the establishment of that republican system, 
of which he was, from first to last, the uncompromising advocate, 
and with the ultimate success of which he believed the best in- 
terests of America and of the world were inseparably connected. 



NEW ENGLANDERS IN NEW ORLEANS. 65 

It is thus that, in contemplating the character of AVashington, 
the offices which he held, the acts which he performed, his suc- 
cess as a statesman, his triumphs as a soldier, almost fade from 
our sight. It is not the Washington of the Delaware or the 
Brandjwine, of Germantown or of Monmouth ; it is not Wash- 
ington the President of the Conyention, or the President of the 
Republic, which we admire. We cast our eyes over his life, not 
to be dazzled bj the meteoric luster of particular passages, but 
to behold its whole pathway radiant, radiant everywhere, with 
the true glory of a just, conscientious, consum'mate man ! Of him 
we feel it to be no exaggeration to say, that 

*' . . . . all the ends he aimed at 
Were his country's, his God's, and truth's." 

Of him we feel it to be no exaggeration to say, that he stands, 
upon the page of history, the great modern illustration and ex- 
ample of that exquisite and divine precept, which fell from the 
lips of the dying monarch of Israel, — 

" He that ruleth over men must be just, ruling in the fear of 
Grod ; and he shall be as the light of the morning, when the sim 
riseth, — even a morning without clouds." 

ROBT. C. WINTHROP. 



XXXIX. — NEW ENGLANDERS IN NEW ORLEANS. 

From an address before the New England Society, at New Orleans, 

Dec. 22, 1845. 

While we devote this day to the remembrance of our native 
land, we forget not that in which our happy lot is cast. We 
exult in the reflection, that, though we count by thousands the 
miles which separate us from our birthplace, still our country is 
the same. We are no exiles, meeting upon the banks of a for- 
eign river, to swell its waters with our homesick tears. Here 
floats the same banner which rustled above our boyish heads, 
except that its mighty folds are wider, and its glittering stars 
increased in number. 

The sons of New England are found in every State of the 
broad Eepublic. In the East, the South, and the unbounded 
West, their blood mingles freely with every kindred current. 
We have but changed our chamber in the paternal mansion ; in 
all its rooms we are at home, and all who inhabit it are our 
brothers. To us, the Union has but one domestic hearth ; its 
household gods are all the same. Upon us, then, peculiarly de- 



G6 THE ROSTRUM. 

volves the duty of feeding the fires upon that kindly hearth ; of 
guarding, with pious care, those sacred household gods. 

We can not do with less than the whole Union ; to us it admits 
of no division. In the veins of our children flows Northern and 
Southern blood. How shall it be separated ? Who shall put 
asunder the best affections of the heart, the noblest instincts of 
our nature ? We love the land of our adoption ; so do we that 
of our birth. Let us ever be true to both ; and always exert 
ourselves in maintaining the unity of our country, the integrity 
of the republic. 

Accursed, then, be the hand put forth to loosen the golden 
cord of Union ; thrice accursed the traitorous lips, whether of 
Northern fanat'ic or Southern demagogue, which shall propose its 
severance ! But no ! the Union can not be dissolved ; its for- 
tunes are too brilliant to be marred — its destinies too powerful to 
be resisted. Here will be their greatest triumph, their most 
mighty development. 

And when, a century hence, this Crescent City shall have 
filled her golden horns ; when within her broad-armed port shall 
be gathered the products of the industry of a hundred millions 
of freemen; when galleries of art and halls of learning shall have 
made classic this mart of trade ; then may the sons of the Pil- 
grims, still wandering from the bleak hills of the North, stand 
upon the banks of the Great River, and exclaim, with mingled 
pride and wonder, Lo ! this our country. When did the world 
ever witness so rich and magnificent a city, — so great and glo- 
rious a republic ? sargeant s. Prentiss. 



XL.— THE VOCATION OF THE MERCHANT. 

What is it, sir, but commerce, that .gives vigor to the civiliza- 
tion of the present day ? What is it but the world-wide exten- 
sion of commercial intercourse, by which all the products of the 
earth and of the ocean, of the soil, the mine, of the loom, of the 
forge, of bounteous nature, creative art, and untiring industry, 
are brought into the universal market of demand and supply ? 
No matter in what region the desirable product is bestowed on 
man by a liberal Providence, or fabricated by human skill. It 
may clothe the hills of China with its fragrant foliage ; it may 
glitter in the golden sands of California ; it may wallow in the 
depths of the Arctic seas ; it may whiten and ripen in the fertile 
plains of the sunny south ; it may spring forth from the flying 
shuttles of Manchester in P^nj^land, or Manchester in America ; 



THE VOCATION OF THE MERCHANT. 67 

tho great world-magnet of commerce attracts it all alike, and 
gathers it all up for the service of man. 

I do not speak of English commerce or American commerce. 
Such distinctions belittle our conceptions. I speak, sir, of com- 
merce in the aggregate ; the great ebbing and flowing tides of 
the commercial world ; the great gulf streams of traffic which 
flow round from hemisphere to hemisphere ; the mighty trade- 
winds of commerce, which sweep from the Old World to the New ; 
that vast aggregate system which embraces the whole family of 
man, and brings the overflowing treasures of nature and art into 
kindly relation with human want, convenience, and taste. In 
carrying on this system, think for a moment of the stupendous 
agencies that are put in motion. Think for a moment of all the 
ghips that navigate the sea. An old Latin poet, who knew no 
waters beyond those of the Mediterranean and Levant, says that 
the man must have had a triple casing of oak and brass about 
his bosom who first trusted his frail bark on the rao-ino- sea. 
How many thousands of vessels, laden by commerce, are at this 
moment navigating, not the narrow seas frequented by the nations, 
but these world-encompassing oceans ! 

Think next of the mountains of brick, and stone, and iron, 
built up into the great commercial cities of the world ; and of all 
the mighty works of ancient and modern contrivance and struc- 
ture — the moles, the lighthouses, the bridges, the canals, the roads, 
the railways, the depth of mines, the Titanic force of enginery, 
the delving plows, the scythes, the reapers, the looms, the electric 
telegraphs, the vehicles of all descriptions, which directly or indi- 
rectly are employed or put in motion by commerce ; and, last 
and most important, the millions of human beings that conduct, 
and regulate, and combine, these inanimate organic and mechan- 
ical forces. 

And now, sir, is it any thing less than a liberal profession, 
which carries a o[uick intelligence, a prophetic forecast, an indus- 
try that never tires ; and, more than all, and above all, a stain- 
less probity beyond reproach and beyond suspicion, into this vast 
and complicated system, and, by the blessing of Providence, 
works out a prosperous result? Such is the vocation of the 
merchant, the man of business, pursued in many departments of 
foreign and domestic trade, of fi-nance', of exchange, but all com- 
prehended under the general name of commerce ; all concerned 
in weaving the mighty net-work of mutually beneficial exchanges, 
which enwraps the world ! edward everett. 



68 THE KOSTRUM. 

XLL — THE POWER OF JOURNALISM. 

Gentlemen, within my experience the press of the United 
States has grown from infancy to manhood — alike in power, in 
enterprise, and in knowledge. It has strengthened and enlarged 
itself with the country to which it belongs and which it typifies. 
From small beginnings it has won the proportions of a giant, 
reaching with its hundred hands over the whole domain of nature 
and of man : propelled by steam and ministered to by the light- 
ning, irresistible in its might ; restrained by law, and governed 
by intelligent and responsible moral agents, making this might 
subservient only to right. Such I know to be the general char- 
acter of the American press. 

The newspaper, indeed, is now one of the necessities of our 
existence. Journalism is an institution of the country. Per- 
haps unacknowledged, but not unfelt, it is every where present 
and every where influential. An eccentric but powerful writer 
(Carlyle) has maintained that even in England, where journalism 
has less scope than among us, the newspapers have superseded 
the parliament; that public opinion seeks its direction, and 
utters its voice, much more independently and effectively through 
the columns of a newspaper than through the wearying speeches 
of parliament-men. There is force, if not absolute truth, in the 
suggestion ; and it is not less true in this country than in Eng- 
land. And when, as occasionally happens in our congress, some 
accidental member, that has found a place there, assumes to 
Bpeak disparagingly of the press, and of editors as of a race infe- 
rior to themselves, it is impossible to refrain from a smile, at 
least, at such pretensions, or from ejaculating the poet's aspi- 
ration : 

"0, that some Power the gift would gi'e 'em. 
To see themselves as others see them ! ' ' 

The newspaper, sir, is, in this our day and our free republic, 
emphatically the exponent of that public opinio7i which is mis- 
tress of empire and of states. It is a power and an agency before 
which guilt, even though upon a throne, and surrounded with glit- 
tering bayoYiets, trembles. It plays in our modern society the 
part assigned in the old Grreek drama to inexorable fate. It is 
the ve'hement, stern, ever-present, and all-chastening element, 
which is around and above the hut of the peasant and the throne 
of the- czar, and which summons to the bar, and judges without 
fear or favor, the motives and the acts of sovereign and of sub- 
jects. It is, in one word, the Ncm'esis of the nations. 

PRESIDENT CHARLES KING. 



WASHINGTON S FAREWELL ADDRESS. 69 

XLIL — VIOLATION OF ENGLISH PROMISES. 

My lord, the Irish. Catholics never, never broke their faith ; 
they never violated their plighted promise to the English. I 
appeal to history for the truth of my assertion. My lord, the 
English never, never observed their fiiith with us — they never 
performed their plighted promise ; the history of the last six hun- 
dred years proves the accuracy of my assertion. I will leave the 
older periods, and fix myself at the revolution. More than a 
hundred and twenty years have elapsed since the treaty of Lim- 
erick. That treaty has been honorably and faithfully performed 
by the Irish Catholics ; it has been foully, disgracefully, and 
directly violated by the English. English oaths and solemn en- 
gagements bound them to its performance : it remains still of 
force and unperformed ; and the ruffian yell of English treach- 
ery, which accompanied its first violation, has, it seems, been 
repeated even in the senate-house at the last repetition of the 
violation of that treaty. They rejoiced and they shouted at the 
perjuries of their ancestors ; at their own want of good faith or 
common sense. 

. Nay, are there not men present, who can tell us, of their own 
knov/ledge, of another instance of English treachery ? Was not 
the assent of many of the Catholics to the fatal — O ! the fatal 
measure of. the union! — purchased by the express and written 
promise of Catholic emancipation, made from authority by Lord 
Cornwaliis, and confirmed by the prime minister, Mr. Pitt? 
And has that promise been perforiHed ? Or, has Irish credulity 
afforded only another instance of English faithlessness ? 

Now, my lord, I ask this assembly whether they can confide 
in English promises ? I say nothing of the solemn pledges of 
individuals. Can you confide in the more than punic faith of 
your hereditary taskmasters ? Or shall we be accused of over- 
scrupulous jealousy, when we reject, with indignation, the con- 
tamination of English control over our church ? o'connell. 



XLIILt- WASHINGTON'S FAREWELL ADDRESS. 

Such, sir, as were the sentiments of "Washington in regard to 
the Union of these States, such should be the sentiments of Amer- 
icans, through all time. Consider his words in the memorable, 
the immortal Farewell Address ! Mark the spirit of patriotism 
— burning, ardent patriotism — breathing in every page and 
every line ! Read his words upon the vital importance of main- 
taining the Union ! 



70 - THE KOSTRUM. 

" It is of infinite moment," he says, 'Hhat you should prop- 
erly estimate the immense value of your national Union, to your 
collective and individual happiness ; that you should cherish a 
cordial, habitual, and immovable attachment to it ; accustoming 
yourselves to think and speak of it as of the palladium of your 
political safety and prosperity; watching for its preservation with 
jealous anxiety ; discountenancing even a suspicion that it can in 
any event be abandoned ; and indignantly frowning upon the first 
attempt to alienate any portion of our country from the rest, or 
to enfeeble the sacred ties which now link together the various 
parts. 

" All obstructions to the execution of the laws, all combina- 
tions and associations, under whatever plausible character, with 
the real character to direct, control, counteract, or awe, the 
regular deliberation and action of the constituted authorities, 
are destructive of this fundamental principle, and of fatal tend- 
ency." 

These were his words : " It is of infinite moment that you 
should properly estimate the immense value of your national 
Union," — and Washington was no user of exaggerated expres- 
sions. Let us heed his words, my countrymen! Let us ever 
press up among the people in support of the grand and beautiful 
harmony of our fraternal political system ; and, taking counsel 
from the immortal hero, whose language I have quoted, let us 
rally in support of the constitution at whose creation he pre- 
sided, which was his great love and affection; and let us 
resolve to leave the glorious Union which he made, unprofaned 
and undismembered, to our posterity. rufus choate. 



XLIV. — FOR AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE. 

I. 

From ^^ an Oration delivered at the State-honse in Philadelphia, to a very nu- 
merous audience, on Thursday, the 1st of August, 1776, by Samuel Adams,* 
member of the Greneral Congress, <fec." 

This day, my countrymen, this day, I trust, th^ reign of polit- 
ical protestantism will commence. We have explored the temple 

* Samuel Adams, born in Boston, Sept. 2Tth, 1722, was a member of the first 
Congress under the Confederation, and a signer of the Declaration of Independ- 
ence. The oration from which we quote was delivered only twenty-seven 
days after the memorable 4th of July, 1776. We believe that attention is 
now called to this address for the first time since the Kevolution. The copy 
we have in hand is supposed to be the only one extant. It is a London edition, 
bearing the date of 177G. In the impassioned eloquence, political sagacity. 



FOR AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE. 71 

of royalty, and found that the idol we bowed down to has eyes 
which see not, ears which hear not our prayers, and a heart like 
the nether millstone. We have this day restored the Sovereign 
to whom alone men ought to be obedient. He reigns in heaven, 
and with propitious eye beholds His subjects assuming that free- 
dom of thought and dignity of self-direction which He bestowed 
upon them. From the rising to the setting sun, may His kingdom 
come! 

Political right and public happiness, my countrymen, are dif- 
ferent words for the same idea. Those who wander into metaphysi- 
cal labyrinths, or have recourse to original contracts^ to determine 
the rights of men, either impose on themselves or mean to delude 
others. Public utility is the only certain criterion. 

Ye darkeners of counsel, who would make the property, lives, 
and religion, of millions depend on the evasive interpretations of 
musty parchments — who would send us to antiquated charters 
of uncertain and contradictory meaning, to prove that the present 
generation are not bound to be victims to cruel and unforgiving 
despotism — tell us whether our pious and generous ancestors 
bequeathed to us the miserable privilege of having the rewards of 
our honest industry, the fruits of those fields which they purchased 
and bled for, wrested from us at the will of men over whom we 
have no check ? Did they contract for us, that, with folded arms, 
we should expect from brutal and inflamed invaders that justice and 
mercy which had been denied to our supplications at the foot of 
the throne ? Were we to hear with indifference our character 
as a people ridiculed ? Did they promise for us that our meek- 
ness and patience should be insulted, that our coasts should be 
har assed, our towns demolished and plundered, our wives and 
offspring exposed to destitution, hunger, and death, without our 
feeling the resentment of men — without our exerting those pow- 
ers of self-preservation which Grod has given us ? 

No man had once a greater veneration for Englishmen than I 
entertained. They were dear to me as branches of the same 
parental trunk, as partakers of the same religion and laws. I 
still view with respect the remains of the British constitution, 

and fervid patriotism, of which these extracts give token, they will compare 
with the celebrated ante-Revolutionary harangues of Patrick Henry. Of the 
eloquence of Samuel Adams, John Adams has left the following record : 

^' Upon great occasions, when his deepest feelings were excited, he erected 
himself, or rather nature seemed to erect him, without the smallest symptom 
of affectation, into an upright dignity of figure and gesture, and gave a har- 
mony to his voice, which made a strong impression on spectators and audi- 
tors, — the more lasting for the purity, correctness, and nervous elegance, of 
his style." 



72 THE ROSTRUM. 

even as I would a lifeless body wliicli had once been animated by 
a great and heroic soul. But when I am roused by the din of 
arms, when I behold legions of foreign assassins paid by English- 
men to imbrue their hands in our blood, when I tread over the 
uncoffined bones of my countrymen, neighbors, and friends, — 
when I see the locks of a venerable father torn by savage hands, 
and a feeble mother clasping her infants to her bosom, and on her 
knees imploring their lives from her own slaves whom English- 
men have lured to treachery and murder, — when I behold my 
country, once the seat of industry, peace, and plenty, changed by 
Englishmen to a theater of blood and misery, — Heaven forgive 
me if I can not root out those passions which it has implanted in 
my bosom ! Heaven forgive me if, with too resentful and impet- 
uous a scorn, I detest submission to a people who have either 
ceased to be human, or have not virtue enough to feel their own 
servitude and abasement ! 



II. 



We are now on this continent, to the astonishment of the world, 
three millions of souls, united in one common cause. We have 
large armies, well disciplined and appointed, with commanders 
inferior to none in military skill, and superior to most in activity 
and zeal. We are furnished with arsenals and stores beyond our 
most sanguine expectations, and foreign nations are waiting to 
crown our success by their alliances. These are instances of an 
almost astonishing Providence in our favor. Our success has 
staggered our enemies, and almost given faith to infidels ; so that 
we may truly say it is not our own. arm which has saved us. 

The hand of Heaven appears to have led us on to be perhaps 
humble instruments and means in the great providential dispen- 
sation which is completing. We have fled from the political 
Sodom. Let us not look back, lest we perish, and become a mon- 
ument of infamy and derision to the world. For can we ever 
expect more unanimity, and a better preparation for defence ; more 
infatuation of counsel among our enemies, and more valor and 
zeal among ourselves ? The same force and resistance which are 
sufficient to procure us our liberties will secure us a glorious inde- 
pendence — will support us in the dignity of free^ imperial 
States, 

My countrymen, from the day on which an accommodation takes 
place between England and America, on any other terms than as 
Independent States, I shall date the ruin of this country. A 



FOR AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE. 73 

politic minister will study to lull us into security by granting us 
tke full extent of our petitions. The warm sunshine of influence 
would melt down the virtue v/hicli the violence of the storm ren- 
dered more firm and unyielding. In a state of tranquillity, wealth, 
and luxury, our descendants would forget the arts of war, and the 
noble activity and zeal which made their ancestors invincible. 
When the spirit of liberty, which now animates our hearts and 
gives success to our arms, is extinct, our numbers will but accel- 
erate our ruin, and render us the easier victims to tyranny. 

Ye abandoned minions of an infatuated ministry, — if peradven- 
ture any should remain among us ! — remember that a Warren 
and Montgomery are numbered among the dead ! Con-tem'plate 
the m.angled bodies of your countrymen, and then say vfhat should 
be the reward of such sacrifices ! Eid us and our posterity bow 
the knee, supplicate the friendship^ and plow and sow and reap 
to glut the avarice^ of the men who have let loose on us the dogs 
of war, to riot in our blood, and hunt us from the face of the 
earth ! If ye love wealth better than liberty, the tranquillity of 
servitude better than the animating contest of freedom, — g9 from 
us in peace -^ we ask not your counsels or your arms — croucK 
down and lick the hands which feed you ! May your chains set 
light upon you, and may posterity forget that ye were cur coun- 
trymen ! 

III. 

Thi3 day we are called on to give a glorious example of what 
the wisest and best of men were rejoiced to view only in specula- 
tion. This day presents the world with the most august specta- 
cle that its annals ever unfolded : Millions of freemen deliber- 
ately and voluntarily forming themselves into a society for their 
common defence and common happiness ! Immortal spirits of 
Hampden, Locke, and Sydney ! Will it not add to your benevo- 
lent joys to behold your posterity rising to the dignity of meUj 
and evincing to the world the ideality and expediency of your sys- 
tems, and in the actual enjoyment of that equal liberty which you 
were happy when on earth in delineating and recommending to 
mankind ? 

Other nations have received their laws from conquerors — 
some are indebted for a constitution to the suilerings of their an- 
cestors through revolving centuries : the people of this country 
alone have formally and deliberately chosen a government for 
themselves, and with open and uninfluenced consent bound them- 
selves into a social compact. Hero no man proclaims his birth 
7 



7i THE PvOSTRUM. 

or wealth as a title to honorable distmctlon, or to sanctify ignorance 
and vice with the name of hereditary authority. He who has 
most zeal and ability to promote the public felicity, let him be the 
servant of the public ! 

And, brethren and fellow-countrymen, if it was ever granted 
to mortals to trace the designs of Providence, and interpret its 
manifestations in favor of their cause, we may, with humility of 
soul, cry out, Not unto us, not unto us, but to thy name be 
THE PRAISE ! The confusion of the devices of our enemies, and 
the rage of the elements against them, have done almost as much 
toward our success as either our counsels or our arms. 

The time at which this attempt on our liberties was made, — 
when we were ripened into maturity, had acquired a knowledge 
of war, and were free from the incursions of intestine enemies, — 
the gradual advances of our oppressors, enabling us to prepare 
for our defense, — the unusual fertility of our lands, the clemencj'- 
of the seasons, the success which at first attended our feeble arms, 
producing unanimity among our friends, and reducing our internal 
foes to acquiescence, — these are all strong and palpable marks 
and assurances that Providence is yet gracious imto Zion, that it 
will turn away the captivity of Jacob 1 

Driven froin every other corner of the earth, freedom of thought 
and the right of private judgment in matters of conscience direct 
their course to this happy country as their last asylum. Let us 
cherish the noble guests ! Let us shelter them under the wings 
of universal toleration ! Be this the seat of unbounded reli- 
gious FREEDOM ! She will bring with her, in her train, Industry, 
Wisdom, and Commerce. Thus, by the beneficence of Provi- 
dence, shall we behold an empire arising, founded on justice and 
the voluntary consent of the people, and giving full scope to the 
exercise of those faculties and rights v/hich most ennoble our 
species ! 

lY. 

If there is any man so base or so weak as to prefer a depend- 
ence on Great Britain to the dignity and happiness of living a 
member of a free and independent nation, let me tell him that 
necessity now demands what the generous principles o^ patriotism 
should have dictated. 

We have now no other alternative than independence or the 
most galling servitude. The legions of our enemies thicken on 
our plains. Desolation and death mark their bloody career ; 
whilst the mangled corses of our countrymen seem to cry out, as 



CAUSE FOR INDIAN RESENTMENT. 75 

a voice from Heaven, — " Will jou permit our posterity to 
groan under the chains of the murderer ? Has our blood been 
expended in vain ? " 

Countrymen ! the men who now invite you to surrender your 
rights into their hands are the men who let loose the merciless 
savages to riot in the blood of their brethren; who conveyed 
into your cities a merciless soldiery, to compel you to submission 
by insult and murder ; who taught treachery to your slaves, and 
courted them to assassinate your wives and children ; who called 
your patience cowardice, your piety hypocrisy ! These are the 
men to whom we are exhorted to sacrifice the blessings which 
Providence holds out to us — the happiness, the dignity, of uncon- 
trolled freedom and independence. 

Let not your generous indignation be directed against any 
among us who may advise so absurd and maddening a measure. 
Their number is few and daily decreasing ; and the spirit which 
can render them patient of slavery will render them contemptible 
enemies. Our union is now complete ; our constitution composed, 
established, and approved. You have in the field armies sufficient 
to repel the whole force of your enemies, and their base and mer- 
cenary auxiliaries. The hearts of your soldiers beat high with 
the spirit of freedom. They are animated with the justice of their 
cause ; and, while they grasp their swords, they can look u|) to 
Heaven for assistance. 

Your adversaries are composed of wretches who laugh at the 
rights of humanity, who turn religion into derision, and who would, 
for higher wages, direct their swords against their leaders or 
against their country. Go on, then, in your generous enterprise, 
with gratitude to Heaven for past success, and confidence of it in 
the future ! For my own part, I ask no greater blessing than to 
share with you the common danger and the common glory. If I 
have a wish dearer to my soul than that my ashes may be min- 
gled with those of a Warren and Montgomery, it is, — That these 
American States may never cease to be free and independ- 
ent ! SAMUEL ADAM3, 



XLV,— CAUSE FOR INDIAN RESENTMENT. 

You say that you have bought the country. Bought it ? Yes : 
— of whom ? Of the poor, trembling natives, who knew that re- 
fusal would be vain ; and who strove to make a merit of necessity, 
by seeming to yield with grace what they knew that they had not i 

the power to retain. " 

Alas, the poor Indians ! No wonder that they continue so 



% 



76 THE ROSTRUM. 

implacably vindictive against the white people. No wonder that 
Ihe rage of resentment is handed down from generation to genera- 
tion. No wonder that they refuse to associate and mix perma- 
nently with their unjust and cruel invaders and exterminators. 
No wonder that, in the unabating spite and frenzy of conscious 
impotence, they wage an eternal war, as well as they are able ; 
that they triumph in the rare opportunity of revenge ; that they 
dance, sing, and rejoice, as the victim shrieks and faints amid the 
flames, when they imagine all the crimes of their oppressors col- 
lected on his head, and fancy the spirits of their injured forefath- 
ers hovering over the scene, smiling with ferocious delight at the 
grateful spectacle, and feasting on the precious odor as it arises 
from the burning blood of the white man. 

Yet the people here affect to wonder that the Indians are so 
very unsusceptible of civilization ; or, in other words, that they so 
obstinately refuse to adopt the manners of the white man. Gro, 
Virginians, erase from the Indian nation the tradition of their 
wrongs. Make them forget, if you can, that once this charming 
country was theirs ; that over these fields and through these for- 
ests their beloved forefathers once, in careless gayety, pursued 
their sports and hunted their game ; that every returning day 
found them the sole, the peaceful, and happy proprietors of this 
extensive and beautiful domain. Go, administer the cup of obliv- 
ion to recollections like these ; and then you will cease to complain 
that the Indian refuses to be civilized. 

But, until then, surely it is nothing wonderful that a nation, 
even yet bleeding afresh from the memory of ancient wrongs, per- 
petually agonized by new outrages, and goaded into desperation 
and madness at the prospect of the certain ruin which awaits their 
descendants, should hate the authors of their miseries, of their 
desolation, their destruction ; should hate their manners, hate their 
color, hate their language, hate their name, hate every thing that 
belongs to them ! No ; never, until time shall wear out the his- 
tory of their sorrows and their sufferings, will the Indian be brought 
to love the white man, and to imitate his manners. 

WILLIAM WIRT. 



XLVI. — CHARACTER OF LORD CHATHAM. 

The secretary stood alone. Modern degeneracy had not reached 
him. Original and unaccommodating, the features of his charac- 
ter had the hardihood of antiquity. His august mind overawed 
majesty itself; and one of Ms sovereigns thought royalty so im- 
paired in his presence, that he conspired to remove him, in order 



t 



CHARACTER OF LORD CHATHAM. 77 

to be relieved from his superiority. No state chicanery, no nar- 
row systems of vicious politics, no idle contest for ministerial 
victories, sank him to the vulgar level of the great ; but, over- 
bearing, persuasive, and impracticable, his object was England, 
his ambition was fame. Without dividing, he destroyed party ; 
without corrupting, he made a venal age unanimous. France 
sank beneath him. With one hand he smote the house of Bour- 
bon, and wielded in the other the democracy of England. The 
sight of his mind was infinite ; and his schemes were to affect, 
not England, not the present age only, but Europe and posterity. 
Wonderful were the means b}^ which these schemes were accom- 
plished; always seasonable, always adequate, the suggestions 
of an understanding animated by ardor, and enlightened by 
prophecy. 

The ordinary feelings which make life amiable and indolent 
were unknown to him. No domestic difficulties, no domestic 
weakness, reached him; but, aloof from the sordid occurrences 
of life, and unsullied by its intercourse, he came occasionally into 
our system to counsel and to decide. 

A character so exalted, so strenuous, so various, so authorita- 
tive, astonished a corrupt age, and the treasury trembled at the 
name of Pitt through all her classes of venality. CorrujDtion 
imagined, indeed, that she had found defects in this statesman, 
and talked much of the inconsistency of his glory, and much of 
the ruin of his victories ; but the history of his country and the 
calamities of the enemy answered and refuted her. 

Nor were his political abilities his only talents. His eloquence 
was an era in the senate ; peculiar and spontaneous, familiarly 
expressing gigantic sentiments and instinctive wisdom ; not like 
the torrent of Demosthenes, or the splendid conflagration of 
Tully ; it resembled sometimes the thunder and sometimes the 
music of the spheres. He did not, like Murray, conduct the 
understanding through the painful subtlety of argumentation ; 
nor was he, like Townshend, forever on the rack of exertion ; but 
rather lightened upon the subject, and reached the point by the 
flashings of his mind, which, like those of his eye, were felt, but 
could not be followed. 

Upon the whole, there was in this man something that could 
create, subvert, or reform ; an understanding, a spirit, and an elo- 
quence, to summon mankind to society, or to break the bonds of 
slavery asunder, and rule the wildness of free minds with un- 
bounded authority ; — something that could establish or over- 
whelm empire, and strike a blow in the world that should resound 
throu2:h its historv ! grattan. 



78 t:i[!] rostrum. 



XLYIL — THE STUDY OF LAITGUAGES. 

Without a competent command of language, either written 
or oral, it is impossible for any person, be his abilities or position 
what they may, to acquire any lasting influence in a free and 
enlightened community. I speak not merely of those destined for 
the senate, the bar, or the church : the power of public speaking, 
and a thorough "command of the English language, are obviously 
indispensable to them, if they would gain the least success in life. 
It lies at the very threshold of their career. But the utility of 
a thorough command of language is not confined to those profes- 
sions in which it is immediately called for ; it is felt, also, in 
every walk of life, as soon as any thing like distinction and emi= 
nence has been attained. 

Such is the construction of the English lano-uarie, owino; to the 
many different, nations who, during the course of eighteen centu^ 
ries, have taken part in its formation, that a thorough command 
of our own tongue can not by possibility be acquired, unless the 
languages are known from which it has been compounded. A 
considerable number of our oldest words — nearly all which are 
to be found in our translation of the Bible — are of German 
origin ; almost all those used in science are derived from Greek ; 
two thirds of the words at present in daily use are derived from 
Latin, or French, or Italian, which are only dialects of the tongue 
in use with the ancient conquerors of the world. It is out of the 
question to obtain a thorough command of such a language, unless 
the sources are known from which it has been drawn. 

Be not deterred by the labor requisite for the command of 
many languages. Recollect the words of Johnson : " Distinc- 
tion is now to be vfon only by the labors of a lifetime ; it is not 
to be attained at any less price." Hecollect also the words of 
Sir Joshua Beynolds : "Nothing is denied to well-directed indus- 
try ; nothing is to be attained without it." " All things," says 
the wise man, " are full of labor. The eye is not satisfied with 
seeing, nor the ear with hearingo" To all, these words were 
spoken. It is the common law of our being; it is by the labor 
of man's hands, and the sweat of his brow, that he is to earn his 
knowledge as well as his subsistence. But to us a higher motive 
for effort has been opened ; an immortal reward for exertion has 
been offered. Therefore it is, Christian ! that thy eye is not 
satisfied v/ith seeing, nor thy ear with hearing ; for that eye must 
open upon immortality, and that ear must hear the voice of the 
living God ! alison. 



DUTY OF A CHIEF MAGISTRATE. 79 



XLVIII.— DUTY OF A CHIEF MAGISTRATE. 

Gentlemen, we live under a constitution. It has made us 
wKat we are. What has carried the American fiao- ail over the 
world? What has constituted that unit of commerce that, 
wherever the stripes and stars are seen, they signify that it u 
America, and united America ? What is it now that represents 
us so respectably all over Europe, in London at this moment, and 
all over the world ? What is it but the result of those commer- 
cial regulations which bound us all together, and made our com- 
merce the same commerce ; which made all the States, — New 
York, Massachusetts, South Carolina, — in the aspect of our for- 
eign relations, the same country, without division, distraction, or 
separation ? Now, gentlemen, this was the original design of the 
constitution. We, in our day, must see that this spirit is made 
to pervade the whole administration of the government. The 
constitution of the United States, to keep us united, to keep flow- 
ing in our hearts a fraternal feeling, must be administered in the 
spirit of it. 

And if I wish to have the spirit of the constitution, in its 
living, speaking, animated form, I wouJd refer always, always, 
to the administration of the first president — George Washing- 
ton ; and if I were now, fellow-citizens, to form the ideal of a 
patriot President, I would draw his master strokes, and copy his 
design. I would present this picture before me as a constant 
study for life. I would present his policy, alike liberal, just, 
narrowed down to no sectional interests, bound down to no per- 
sonal objects, held to no locality, but broad, and generous, and 
open ; as expansive as the air which is wafted by the winds of 
heaven from one part of the country to anothero I would draw 
a picture of his foreign policy — just, steady, stately, but, withal, 
proud, and lovely, and gloriouSo No man could say, in his day, 
that the broad escutcheon of the honor of the Union could receive 
either injury or damage, or even contumely or disrespect. His 
own character gave character to the foreign relations of the coun- 
try. He upheld every interest of his country, in even the proud- 
est nations of Europe ; and, while resolutely just, he was reso- 
lutely determined that no plume of her renown should ever be 
defaced. 

Gentlemen, a wise and prudent shipmaster makes it his first 
duty to preserve the vessel that carries him and his merchandise 
— to keep her afioat, to conduct her to her destined port with 
entire security of property and life. That is his first object ; and 
that should be the obiect, and is, of ever v chief mao-istrate of the 



80 THE ROSTRUM. 

United States who has a proper appreciation of his duty. It is 
to preserve the constitution which bears him, which sustains the 
government, without which every thing goes to the bottom ; — to 
preserve that, and keep it, to the utmost of his ability, off the 
rocks and shoals, and away from the quicksands ; — to preserve 
that, he exercises the cautioij of the experienced shipmaster ; he 
suffers nothing to betray his watchfulness — to draw him aside 
from the joint interests committed to his care, and the great object 
in viewo 

" Though pleased to see the dolphins play. 
He minds his compass and his way ; 
And oft he throws the wary lead. 
To see what dangers may be hid. 
At helm he makes his reason sit ; 
His crew of passions all submit : 
Thus safe he steers his barge, and sails 
On upright keel, and meets the gales." 

Now, gentlemen, with this steadiness of purpose, this entire and 
devoted patriotism of motive, Yf ashington reached that which 
those who wish to reach, m.ust emulate him and his example 
to find all their efforts crowned with success. He lived to see 
his country great, prosperous, and happy. He reaped a rich 
reward in the thanks of his countrymen ; and we are enabled to 
read his history in a nation's pride. Webster. 



XLIX. — m PROSPECT OF WAR. 

A company of volunteers were present at the delivery of this discourse (in 
Bristol, England, Oct. 19, 1803), at the time of the threatened invasion by 
Napoleon. 

Gro forth, defenders of your country, accompanied with every 
auspicious omen ; advance with alacrity into the field, where God 
himself musters the hosts to war. Religion is too much inter- 
ested in your success not to lend you her aid. She will shed over 
your enterprise her selectest iniiuence. While you are engaged 
in the field, many will repair to the closet, many to the sanctu- 
ary ; the faithful of every name will employ that prayer which 
has power with God ; the feeble hands which are unequal to any 
other weapon, will grasp the sword of the Spirit ; and, from 
myriads of humble, con' trite hearts, the voice of intercession, 
supplication, and weeping, will mingle, in its ascent to heaven, 
with the shouts of battle and the shock of arms. 

While you have every thing to fear from the success of the 
enemy, you have every means of preventing that success; so that 



TO THE ELECTOKS OF LIVERPOOL. 81 

it is next to impossible for victory not to crovfn jour exertions. 
The extent of your resources, under God, is equal to the justice 
of your cause. But, should Providence determine otherwise, — 
should you fall in this struggle, should the nation fall, — you will 
have the satisfaction (the purest allotted to man) of having per- 
formed your part ; your names will be enrolled with the most illus- 
trious dead, while posterity, to the end of time, as often as they 
revolve the events of this period (and they will incessantly 
revolve them), will turn to you a reverential eye, while they 
mourn over the freedom which is entombed in your sepulcher. 

I can not but imagine the virtuous heroes, legislators, and 
patriots, of every age and country, are bending from their ele- 
vated seats to witness this contest, as if they were incapable, till 
it be brought to a favorable issue, of enjoying their eternal 
repose. Enjoy that repose, illustrious immortals ! Your mantle 
fell when jou ascended ; and thousands, inflamed with your spirit, 
and impatient to tread in your steps, are ready to sivear, by Hiin 
that sitteth on the throne, and liveth for ever and ever, that they 
will protect freedom in her last asylum, and never desert her cause, 
which you sustained by your labors, and cemented with your 

blood ! SEV. EOBSRT HALL. 



L. — TO THE ELECTORS OF LIVERPOOL. 

Do not, gentlemen, listen to those who tell you the cau-se of 
freedom is desperate — they are the enemies of the cause and 
of you ; but listen to me, for you know me, and I am one who 
has never yet deceived you. I say, then, that it will be despe- 
rate if you make no exertions to retrieve it. I tell you that 
your languor alone can betray it ; that it can only be made des- 
perate through your despair. I am not a man to be cast down 
by temporary reverses, let them come upon me as thick, and as 
swift, and as sudden, as they may. I am not he who is daunted 
by majorities in the outset of a struggle for worthy objects; 
else I should not now stand here before you to boast of triumphs 
won in your cause. 

• If your champions had yielded to the force of numbers, of 
gold, of power, — if defeat could have dismayed them,— then would 
the African slave-trade never have been abolished ; then would 
the cause of reform, which now bids fair to prevail over its ene- 
mies, liave been long ago sunk amidst the desertions of its friends; 
then would those prospects of peace have been utterly benighted 
which I still devoutly cherish, and which even now brighten in 



H*J^ Tin: liOHTUUM. 

\{n\V vy^fi'i i\\o\\ wnuM (ho nnlt^iH in lomiril, wliuh I (>vtM'tiu*(»w 
\\y your r^upjuu't, lutvi^ vamuiiuHl a dingmou to lln^ iMiii.sh nahu\ 
iiliil nil o((^rii<i) o1>.s(ho)(^ to our jn^nl luton^HtH. 1 no iiuuo (l(\Mp(iiMl 
Uo\v lluiu I luivo ill llio roum^ oC ihof<<^ hmoihuI juul ^loriouH luui- 
tuutuuiH; )uit it U tov you to miy wiu^tluu' toMuorvow hIimII not 
umKo it uiy *luty*to tli^rtpulr. To-morit»Nv in yiuir hi.st day ; your 
laht olloitti iiiuHt thou ho wuuUk \X you put iovth your Htrougth. 
tho day iricuu' owu; it'yoii doHOvt mo, it in lont, To wiu it, 1 nhall 
bo tho tiif^t to load you ou, aiul tho lawt to lornako you. 

OoutUnuou, I hiaud \ip lu thin ooiitivit agaiurtt \\\o IVioudM and 
tUlloworrt ol' Mr. Pitt; iu\ an thoy jiartially do.*iiij;ua(t^ him, thi 
** i\iuuortal" Htatortuiau, iu»\v uo uiivro, Immorfa/ \\\ i\\o uiiworir 
oT hin dt^votiMl inuuitry ! ]mfm*rf(*l iu tho avoiuuIh ol' lior hhunl- 
iiig lihortiisn! hnmintul iu tho ovuol \s\\x^ whioh f^prau^ iVvuu 
\m oohl, HUHon hndatiufs; tuuhitiou! immortal iu tht^ iuttdt^raldu 
taxoH, tho oo\u»th\srt huoln of doht, \vl\ioh thoNO wars havv^ tliuiii^ 
Ujuui UH, whirh tho yoiiugo.st uiau auioiu^^.nt uh will luM livo to 8(h> 
tho oud of! Jmrnmiitl m tho tvi\uu|dm of owv ouou^ioHi nm\ tho 
vuiu <d' our allios, tlio oof^tly |vur<']ui80 of si> \\\\\A\ Mov^d and 
tvOHHuri^! Jmmitrhii iu tho alllirtiiiuH of Kui»;laml, and (hohumll 
h\\im of W IVioudn, tl\riMigh iUo wiudo vos\dtH of his* twouty 
yoavH* roi)i;u, IViUu tho tlrst rayw ol' favor with whioh a dolightod 
oourtgildml hi.s oarly a|>v>.Hta?Hy, U\ {\\o d<^adly «^laro wluoh is at thi?* 
In^taut owfit \»pou hivH i«uuo by tho b\iruiug^ ujotvopolia of ouv hv 
i\\Ay]^ H\it uiay \io mioIi iuuiuutality (^vor fdl to \\\\ \oi\ Lot 
vuo vuthov Uvo iuuooout aud iu^u^^niiUiH; aud \vhou» at h^st, I ooa^o 
to liorvo you, »ud to tbol lor youv Avrouga, \my I hnvo hu huiuhU' 
uiouiuuout iu s^iuuo ua\uolOvH!4 titouo, to toil tlu\t bouoath it ilimo 
roatfi iVom hi» labors iu Yo\ir norvioo ** au ouoiuy ot' tho iiuuiortMl 
HtHtoHumu, — a iVm\\\ ot jhh\oo «ud of tho ptH>|>la!" 

toui> nuouvaiAM. 



IHiw sutVoviu\?«4 of uu nuiuuU ntttui^, otHmmouod by i\^tou»por- 

»uoo, u\y tViotuiH, aro uot to bo oouifnuvd with thi> momJ ai>\>uios 
wl^ioh ovuivuIho tiu^ mvul. It i?* i\n iuuuvuMal b<>iu\»' who sins aud 
»ut!o\^5 and Hs4 hii* t^^vthly ho\^>»o d\i*j4ohH\s bo iii «p|ux>ttohiuj* tho 
iudii;\uout-HiNiit iu autioipaiiou of u u\isorabhN rtoruity. Wo " 
hi?i oaotivitw auvt iu auii^uivsh o( ^spirit olauk?* hi?* ohnlu.^ \\n^\ ^ 
ibv holp, Oon^oiouoo thuudors*, »\^u\m\^ ^^dn; wul ^9 tho g*ub* 

*'n^*» ^u^w^* uf ih** bvwivh^tf i^f M<^vw hft<t ♦vvrtvtHl bv ttmi \^v*» w^lli 
(VH^ ^IU» t>4\^». 



IIOlUiOKS AM) HONORS OK WAR. 83 

opens beibrc him, ho rocoilB, and trcinblos, and w(h;j>h, iiiid pravH, 
and resolve;^, and promiBCH, and refbrmH, and "seeks it jet 
again,*' — again resolves, and weeps, and prays, and "seeks it jet 
again! " Wretehed man, he has plaeed himself in the hands of 
a giant, who never pities, and never relaxes his iron gripe. He 
may struggh); but he is in chains. Ho may cry for release; but 
it comes not, and lost ! lost ! may be inscribed upon the door- 
posts of his dwelling. 

In the mean time these paroxysms of his dying moral natnK; 
decline, and a fearful apathy, the harbinger of S[>iritual death, 
comes on. His resolution fails, his mental energy, and his vig- 
orous enterprise, — and norvouj^ irritation and depression ensue. 
The social affections lose tlnnr fullness and tenderness, and con- 
science loses its power, and the heart its sensibility, until all that 
was once lovely and of good report retires, and leaves the wret(!h 
abandoned to the appetites of a ruined animal. In this dej)lor- 
al)le condition, reputation expires, business ialters and becomes 
perplexed, and temptations to drink multiply as inclination to do 
so increases and the power of resistance declines. And now the 
vortex roars, and the strujrgling victim buffets the fiery wave with 
feebler stroke and waning supplication, until despair flashes 
upon his soul, and, with an outcry that pierces the heavens, he 
ceases to strive, and disappears! lyuas bjsecii£U. 



MI. ^HORKOllS AND HONORS OF AVAR. 

The miseries of war are miseries inflicted by man on man. 
They* bear the impress of cruelty, of hardness of heart. The 
distorted features, writhing franu\s, and shrieks of the wounded 
and dying, — these are not the chief honors of war; thc^y sink 
into unimportance compared with the infernal passions whic^h 
work this woe. Death is a light evil, when not joiru^d -with 
crime. That man, born of woman, bound by ties of brotherhood 
to man, and c()nnnand(?d, by an inward hiw and the voice of (^od, 
to love and do good, should, through selfishness, pride, or revenge, 
inflict these agonies, and shed these torrents of human blood, — 
here is an evil which (;ombines witli exquisite sufllering fiendish 
guilt. All other evils fade before it. 

The idea of honor is associated with war. But to whf)rH does 
the honor belong? H' to any, (certainly not to the mass of the 
people, but to those who are particularly engfigcnl in it. The 
mass of a people, who stay at home and hire others to fight ; 
who sleep in their warm beds and hire others to sleep on the cold 



84 THE PtOSTRUM. 

and damp earth; who sit at their well-spread board, and hire oth- 
ers to take the chance of starving; who nurse the slightest hurt 
in their own bodies, and hire others to expose themselves to mortal 
wounds and to linger in comfortless hospitals; certainly this mass 
reap little honor from war. The honor belongs to those imme- 
diately engaged in it. 

Let me ask, then, what is the chief business of war? It is to 
destroy human life, to mangle the limbs, to gash and hew the 
body, to plunge the sword into the heart of a fellow-creature, to 
strew the earth with bleeding frames, and to trample them under 
foot with horses' hoofs. It is to batter down and burn cities, to 
turn fruitful fields into deserts, to level the cottage of the peasant 
and the magnificent abode of opulence, to scourge nations with 
famine, to multiply widows and orphans. 

Are these honorable deeds ? Were you called to name 
ex-ploits' worthy of demons, would you not naturally select such 
as these ? Grant that a necessity for them may exist ; it is a 
dreadful necessity, such as a good man must recoil from with 
instinctive horror ; and though it may exempt them from guilt, 
it cannot turn them into glory. We have thought that it was 
honorable to heal, to save, to mitigate pain, to snatch the sick 
and sinking from the jaws of death. We have placed among the 
revered benefactors of the human race the discoverers of arts 
which alleviate human sufierings; which prolong, comfort, adorn 
and cheer human life ; and if these arts be honorable, where is 
the glory of multiplying and aggravating tortures and death? 

DR. CHANNING. 



LIIL— SKEPTICISM OE THE AGE. 

It seems to me you lay your finger here on the heart of the 
world's maladies, when you call it a skeptical world. An insin- 
cere world ; a godless untruth of a world ! It is out of this, 
as I consider, that the whole tribe of social pestilences, French 
revolutions, chartisms, and what not, have derived their being, — 
their chief necessity to be. This must alter. Till this alter, 
nothing can beneficially alter. My one hope of the world, my 
inexpugnable consolation, in looking at the miseries of the world, 
is, that this is altering. Here and there, one does now find a 
man who knows, as of old, that this world is a truth, and no 
plausibility and falsity ; that he himself is alive, not dead or 
paralytic, and the v^^orld is alive, instinct with Godhood, beauti- 
ful and awful, even as in the beginning of days ! One man once 
knowing this, many men, all men, must, by and by, come to know 



THE SPIRIT OF PERSECUTION STILL EXTANT. 85 

it. It lies there clear, for whosoever will take the spectacles off 
his eyes, and honestly look to know. 

Eor such a man the unbelieving century, with its unblessed 
products, is already past ; a new century is already come. The 
old unblessed products and performances, as solid as they look, 
are phantasms, preparing speedily to vanish. To this and the 
other noisy, very great looking Simula' crum, with the whole 
world huzzaing at its heels, he can say, composedly stepping 
aside, Thou art not true ; thou art not extant, only semblant ; 
go thy way ! Yes, hollow formalism, gross Benthamism, and 
other unheroic atheistic insincerity, is visibly and even rapidly 
declining. An unbelieving eighteenth century is but an excep- 
tion, — such as now and then occurs. I prophesy that the world 
will once more become sincere ; a believing world ; with many 
heroes in it, a heroic world ! It will then be a victorious 
world, — never till then. thomas carlyle. 



MV.— THE SPIRIT OF PERSECUTION STILL EXTANT. 

It is very difficult to make the mass of mankind believe that 
the state of things is ever to be otherwise than they have been 
accustomed to see it. I have very often heard old persons 
describe the impossibility of making any one believe that the 
American Colonies could ever be separated from this country. 
It was always considered as an idle dream of discontented poli- 
ticians, good enough to fill up the periods of a speech, but which 
no practical man, devoid of the spirit of party, considered to be 
within the limits of possibility. There was a period when the 
slightest concession would have satisfied the Americans ; but all 
the world was in heroics. One set of gentlemen met at the 
Lamb, and another at the Lion — blood-and-treasure men, 
breathing war, vengeance, and contempt; and in eight years 
afterwards, an awkward-looking gentleman in plain clothes 
walked up to the drawing-room of St. James's, in the midst 
of the gentlemen of the Lion and the Lamb, and was introduced 
as the ambassador fronn the United States of America, 

Mild and genteel people do not like the idea of persecution, 
and are advocates for toleration ; but, then, they think it no act 
of intolerance to deprive Catholics of political power. The his- 
tory of all this is, that all men secretly like to punish others for 
not being of the same opinion with themselves, and that this sort 
of privation is the only species of persecution of which the 
improved feeling and advanced cultivation of the age will admit. 
8 



86 THE ROSTRUM. 

Fire and fagot, chains and stone walls, have been clamored 
away ; nothing remains but to mortify a man's pride and to limit 
his resources, and to set a mark upon him by cutting him off 
from his fair share of political power. By this receipt insolence 
i^ gratified, and humanity is not shocked. 

The gentlest Protestant can see, with dry eyes. Lord Stourton 
excluded from Parliament, though he would abominate the most 
distant idea of personal cruelty to Mr. Petre. This is only to 
say that he lives in the nineteenth, instead of the sixteenth cen- 
tury, and that he is as intolerant in religious matters as the state 
of manners existing in his age will permit. Is it not the same 
spirit which wounds the pride of a fellow-creature on account 
of his faith, or which casts his body into the flames ? Are they 
any thing else but degrees and modifications of the same princi- 
ple ? The true spirit is to search after God and for another life 
with lowliness of heart ; to fling down no man's altar, to punish 
no man's prayer ; to heap no penalties and no pains on those 
solemn supplications which, in divers tongues and in varied forms, 
and in temples of a thousand shapes, but with one deep sense of 
human dependence, men pour forth to God. 

REV. SYDNEY SMITH. 



LV. — TWENTY-FIVE YEARS OF PEACE. 

While we act, sir, upon the maxim '' In peace prepare for 
war, " let us also remember that the best preparation for war is 
peace. This swells your numbers ; this augments your means ; 
this knits the sinews of your strength ; this covers you all over 
with a panoply of might. And, then, if war must come in a just 
cause, no foreign state — no, sir, not all combined — can send forth 
an adversary that you need fear to encounter. 

But, sir, give us these twenty-five years of peace. I do 
believe, sir, that this coming quarter of a century is to be the 
most important in our whole history. I do beseech you to let us 
have these twenty-five years, at least, of peace. Let these fertile 
wastes be filled up with swarming millions; let this tide of 
emigration from Europe go on ; let the steamer, the canal, the 
railway, and especially let this great Pacific railway, subdue 
these mighty distances, and bring this vast extension into a span. 

Let us pay back the ingots of California gold with bars of 
Atlantic iron ; let agriculture clothe our vast wastes with waving 
plenty ; let the industrial and mechanic arts erect their peaceful 
fortresses at the waterfalls ; and then, sir, in the train of this 
growing population, let the printing-office, the lecture-room, the 



EFFECT OF AMERICAN INSTITUTIONS. 87 

village school-house, and the village church, be scattered over the 
country. And in these twenty-five years we shall exhibit a spec- 
tacle of national prosperity such as the world has never seen on 
so hirge a scale, and yet within the reach of a sober, practical 
contemplation. edward everett. 



LVI.— EFFECT OF AMERICAN INSTITUTIONS. 

Over how broad a portion of the world, sir, have we extended 
the advantages we ourselves enjoy ! Our domain unites the 
noblest valley on the surface of the globe, competent to grow 
food for human beings many more than now dwell on the face of 
the earth, with an eastern wing fitted for the site of the principal 
manufacturing and commercial power of existing Christendom, 
and a western flank v/ell situated to hold the same position on 
the Pacific, when Asia shall renew her youth, and Australia shall 
have risen to the level of Europe. Bewildering, almost, is the 
suddenness of our expansion to fill these limits, and astounding 
are the phenomena that accompany this development. This day 
there stands before the councils of the nation, deputed to partici- 
pate in their deliberations, a young man^ born within sight of old 
Concord bridge, and educated under the institutions which Con- 
cord fight secured, who, when he revisits the old homestead, 
claims to represent a territory larger than France and the united 
British kingdom, — capable of containing, if settled to the present 
density of Great Britain, more than a hundred millions of souls, — 
a territory lately the joint inheritance of the Indian and the 
grisly bear, now outstripping, in its instant greatness, all re- 
corded colonies, — the Ophir of our age, richer than Solomon's, 
richer than the wildest vision that ever dazzled Arabian fancy. 

Occupying such a continent, receiving it consecrated by the 
toils and sufterings and outpouring of ancestral blood, which on 
the day we now commemorate began, how delightful is the duty 
which devolves on us, to guard the beacon-fire of liberty, whose 
flames our fathers kindled ! Suffer it not, my friends, — suffer it 
not, posterity that shall come after us, — to be clouded by domestic 
dissension, or obscured by the dank, mephitic vapors of faction ! 
Until now, its pure irradiance dispels doubt and fear, and revivi- 
fies the fainting hopes of downcast patriotism. For ever may it 
shine brightly as now ; for as yet its pristine luster fades not, 
but still flashes out the ancient, clear, and steady illumination, 
joy-giving as the blaze that, leaping from promontory to promon- 

* The representative from California. 



88 THE ROSTRUM. 

tory, told the trmmph of Agamemnon over fated Troy ! It towers 
and glows, refulgent and beautiful, far seen by the tempest-tost 
on the sea of revolution, darting into the dungeons of gaunt de- 
spair beams whose benignant glory no lapse of time shall dim ; 
the wanderers in the chill darkness of slavery it guides, and 
cheers, and warms ; it fills the universe with its splendor. 

ROBERT RANTOUL. 



LVn.— VOYAGE OF THE MAYFLOWER. 

Methinks I see it now, that one solitary, adventurous vessel, 
the Mayflower of a forlorn hope, freighted with- the prospects 
of a future State, and bound across the unknown sea. I behold 
it pursuing, with a thousand misgivings, the uncertain, the tedious 
voyage. Suns rise and set, and weeks and months pass, and win- 
ter surprises them on the deep, but brings them not the sight of 
the wished-for shore. I see them now, scantily supplied with 
provisions, crowded almost to suffocation in their ill-stored prison, 
delayed by calms, pursuing a circuitous route ; and now, driven 
in fury before the raging tempest, in their scarcely seaworthy 
vessel. 

The awful voice of the storm howls through the rigging. The 
laboring masts seem straining from their base ; the dismal sound 
of the pumps is heard ; the ship leaps, as it were, madly from 
billow to billow ; the ocean breaks and settles with ingulfing 
floods over the floating deck, and beats with deadening weight 
against the staggered vessel. I see them, escaped from these 
perils, pursuing their all but desperate undertaking, and landed 
at last, after a ^ye months' passage, on the ice-clad rocks of 
Plymouth ; weak and exhausted from the voyage, poorly armed, 
scantily provisioned, depending on the charity of their shipmas- 
ter for a draught of beer on board ; drinking nothing but water 
on shore, without shelter, without means, surrounded by hostile 
tribes. 

Shut now the volume of history, and tell me, on any principle 
of human probability, what shall be the fate of this handful of 
adventurers ! Tell me, man of military science, in how many 
months were they ail swept off by the thirty savage tribes enu- 
merated within the boundaries of New England ! Tell me, poli- 
tician, how long did this shadow of a colony, on which your 
conventions and treaties had not smiled, languish on the distant 
coast ! Student of history, compare for me the baffled projects, 
the deserted settlements, the abandoned adventures, of other 
times, and find the parallel of this ! 



THE COMMON-SCllOOL SYSTEM. 89 

Was it the winter's storm, beating upon the houseless heads of 
women and children ? — was it hard labor and spare meals ? — 
was it disease ? — was it the tomahawk ? — was it the deep mal- 
ady of a blighted hope, a ruined enterprise, and a broken heart, 
aching in its last moments at the recollection of the loved and 
left, beyond the sea ? — was it some or all of these united that 
hurried this forsaken company to their melancholy fate ? And is 
it possible that no one of these causes, that not all combined, 
were able to blast this bud of hope ? Is it possible that from a 
beginning so feeble, so frail, — so worthy, not so much of admira- 
tion as of pity, — there have gone forth a progress so steady, a 
growth so wonderful, an expansion so ample, a reality so import- 
ant, a promise, yet to be fulfilled, so glorious ? 

EDWARD EVEHETT. 



LVIII. — THE COMMON-SCHOOL SYSTEM. 

Mr. President and gentlemen, I thank you for the honor you 
have done me by calling upon me to respond to a sentiment in 
behalf of the common schools of New England. I am all the 
more thankful, because it is too late in the day to require a vin- 
dication of common schools as an institution established by the 
Pilgrim Fathers. In their minds education was an integral ele- 
ment of the great republican idea included in every conception 
they could form for the organization of a State. Sir, under their 
rigid exterior the Puritans cherished an intense, a Hebrew faith 
in Grod and in everlasting realities ; a faith such as shook the 
strings of David's harp, and fired the lips of th.e prophets. They 
were ever seeking to do God's will, and felt that God was with 
them. They did not seek for material success, but merely for 
the great elements of the permanent welfare of the individual 
and the State. They established and cherished the interests of 
education. 

It has been said that external circumstances favored the sin- 
gleness of purpose and the devotion to permanent realities by 
which they were distinguished. No doubt there is truth in this. 
Had they landed on a luxuriant shore, had golden placers opened 
before their feet, they might have been tempted to luxurious sen- 
suality, and the material scramble for this world's goods. But 
for them there was no luxury, and their reliance was upon the 
manly elements that grow up in suffering and privation to their 
full strength. The inclement winter, and the waves dashing 
upon their icy rocks, drove them back upon the soil, and enabled 
their vision to detect what were the qualitiBs that alone enable 
8* 



90 THE •ROSTRUM. 

man to assert his superiority over the elements, and wring the 
victory from the iron hand of nature. 

This brings up the great fact which this talking, philosophical, 
material age needs to have reiterated, that no great thing was ever 
wrought save by an intense religious faith. It was faith in Prov- 
idence, the faith that every hero maintains in great principles. I 
know that when we look into history we see more genial charac- 
ters than the Puritans ; but when we look for foundation-men, 
men who lay the Cyclopean base of a republic, they alone were 
the men worthy of the work. Grod ordains that a republic is not 
proclaimed from noisy barricades and polytechnic schools. It 
is found hewn out rough in the quarry of suffering and endur- 
ance, and is laid in resolution and in prayer. Grod appoints for 
it a granite soil and granite men. The Pilgrims builded better 
than they knew ; it was Grod that filled them with a great ideal, 
which they themselves did not comprehend. How else did they 
lay hold of the great fact that the state is more interested in the 
coming generation than in our own ? This was the idea that 
animated the hearts of the Pilgrims. 

I do not intend to attribute to them all the liberty and the 
great results which we behold around us. I know how much is 
due to the Hollander, how much to the generous toleration of 
Calvert. They are all so mixed up in our present institutions 
that, thank God ! it is impossible for any party to claim a per- 
sonal property in any part. But it is certain that here alone is 
a great and true republic. I do not forget Switzerland ; but still 
I say, that here alone is a republic endowed with the power of a 
great and progressive development. We must remember Italy, 
stricken down and oppressed ; France, where nothing is perma- 
nent, and where freedom is but a name ; and that other country, 
where the Danube rolls beside the graves of martyred heroes, 
and which sends out her most distinguished son^ and exile to 
plead her cause in a voice that shakes the nations. But here 
the only true republic has risen and expanded into greatness and 
power. 

If we ask whence springs this giant republic, we must look 
back to that grand historical picture, with its fringe of dark 
roots, its back-ground of tossing winter waves, with mothers 
shielding their babes from the icy cold, and fathers treading the 
crackling snow ! We must look back to that stern and manly peo- 
ple that laid there and then the foundation for free thought, free 
speech, and free schools. e. h. chapiNo 

* Kossuth, the Hungarian. 



PART SECOND. — THE BAR, 



L — RIGHT OF SELF-DEFENSE. 

IVom a speech before the Supreme Court of Massachusetts, 1806, at the trial 
of Thomas 0. Selfredge for shooting Charles Austin, who attacked him with 
a cowhide. 

The opposing counsel have contended, gentlemen of the jury, in 
order to establish the guilt of mj client, that the right of self- 
defense is not given by the law of civil society. It is founded, then, 
on the law of nature — a law of higher authority than any human 
institution. Surely I need not tell you that the naan who is daily 
beaten on the public exchange can not retain his standing in society 
by a resort to the laws. Recovering daily damages will rather 
aggravate the contempt of the community. 

It is a most serious calamity for a man of high qualifications 
for usefulness, of a delicate sense of honor, to be driven to the 
necessity of repelling a brutal personal attack — of saving himself 
from the profanation of a ruffian's blow. Yet, should it become 
inevitable, he is bound to defend himself like a man ; to summon 
all the energies of his soul, rise above ordinary maxims, poise him- 
self on his own magnanimity, and hold himself responsible only 
to his God. Whatever may be the consequences, he is bound to 
bear them ; to stand like Mount x\tlas, 

'' When storms and tempests thunder on his brow. 
And oceans break their billows at his feet." 

Do not believe that I am inculcating opinions tending to dis- 
turb the peace of society. On the contrary, they are the only 
principles that can preserve it. It is more dangerous for the laws 
to give security to a man disposed to commit outrages on the per- 
sons of his fellow-citizens, than to authorize those, who must oth- 
erwise meet irrep'arable injury, to defend themselves at every haz- 
ard. I will not, if I can help it, leave it in the power of any 
daring miscreant to mutilate, maltreat, or degrade me. I respect 
the laws of my country ; I revere the precepts of our holy reli- 
gion ; I should shudder at shedding human blood ; I would prac- 
tice moderation and forbearance, to avoid so terrible a calamity ; 
yet, should I ever be driven to that impassable point where degra- 
dation and disgrace begin, may this arm shrink palsied from its 
socket, if I fail to defend my. own honor I samuel dextek. 

91 



92 THE BAK. 

IL — THE NATURE OF JUSTICE. 

From the speech on the trial of Warren Hastings, June 6th, 1788. 

Let me caU the attention of the court to the magnificent par- 
agraph in which Mr. Hastings concludes his communication. It 
will give you some idea of this man's notions of justice. •' I 
hope," says Mr. Hastings, " it will not be a departure from offi- 
cial language to say, that the majesty of justice ought not to he 
approached without solicitation. She ought not to descend to 
inflame or provoke, but to withhold her judgment imtil she is called 
on to determine." Justice ought not to be approached without 
solicitation ! Justice ought not to descend ! But, my lords, do 
you, the judges of this land, and the expounders of its rightful 
laws, do you approve of this mockery, and call it justice ? No ! 
justice is not this halt and miserable object; it is not the inef- 
fective bauble of an Indian pagod; it is not the portentous 
phantom of despair ; it is not like any fabled monster, formed 
in the eclipse of reason, and found in some unhallowed grove of 
superstitious darkness and political dismay ! No, my lords. 

In the happy reverse of all these, I turn from this disgusting 
caricature to the real image ! Justice I have now before me, 
august and pure — the abstract idea of all that would be perfect 
in the spirits and the aspirings of men ; where the mind rises, 
where the heart expands ; where the countenance is ever placid 
and benign ; where her favorite attitude is to stoop to the unfor- 
tunate, to hear their cry and to help them ; to rescue and relieve, 
to succor and save ; majestic from its mercy, venerable from its 
utility; uplifted without pride, firm without obduracy; benefi- 
cent in each preference, lovely though in her frown ! 

On that justice I rely, deliberate and sure, abstracted from all 
party purpose and political speculation, not in words, but in 
facts. You, my lords, who hear me, I conjure, by those rights it 
is your best privilege to preserve ; by that fame it is your best 
pleasure to inherit ; by all those feelings which refer to the first 
term in the series of existence, the original compact of our 
nature, our controllins; rank in the creation. This is the call on 
all, to administer to truth and equity, as they would satisfy the 
laws; ay, as they would satisfy themselves with the most exalted 
bliss possible or conceivable for our nature, — the self -approving 
co7LSciousness of virtue^ when the condemnation we look for will 
be one of the most ample mercies accomplished for mankind 
since the creation of the world ! My lords, I have done. 

SHERIDAN. 



THE UNITED STATES AND THE CHEROKEES. 93 



HI — THE UNITED STATES AND THE CHEROKEES. 

In the Supreme Court of the United States, January, 1831, in the case of the 
Cherokees against the State of Georgia. 

It is with no ordinary feelings that I am about to take leave 
of this cause. The existence of the remnant of a once great 
and mighty nation is at stake, and it is for your honors to say 
whether they shall be blotted out from the creation, in utter dis- 
regard of all our treaties. Their cause is one that must come 
home to every honest and feeling heart. They have been true 
and faithful to us, and have a right to expect a corresponding 
fidelity on our part. Our wish has been their law. We asked 
them to become civilized, and they became so. They have even 
adopted our resentments, and in our war with the Seminole 
tribes they voluntarily joined our arms, and gave effectual aid in 
driving back those barbarians from the very state that now 
oppresses them. They threw upon the field a body of men who 
proved, by their martial bearing, their descent from the noble 
race that were once the lords of these extensive forests. 

May it please your honors, this people have refused to us no 
gratification which it has been in their power to grant. They 
are here now in the last extremity, and with them must perish 
the honor of the American name for ever. Yf e have pledged, for 
their protection and for the guarantee of the remainder of their 
lands, the faith and honor of our nation — a faith and honor 
never sullied, nor even drawn into question, until now. We 
promised them, and they trusted us. They trust us still. Shall 
they be deceived? They would as soon expect to see their 
rivers run upwards on their sources, or the sun roll back in his 
career, as that the United States would prove false to them, and 
false to the word so solemnly pledged by their W^ashington, and 
renewed and perpetuated by his illustrious successors. 

With the existence of this people the faith of our nation, I 
repeat it, is fatally linked. The blow which destroys them 
quenches for ever our own glory ; for what glory can there be, 
of which a patriot can be proud, after the good name of his 
country shall have departed? We may gather laurels on the 
field, and trophies on the ocean, but they will never hide this 
foul and bloody blot upon our escutcheon. " Remember the 
Cherokee nation ! " will be answer enough to the proudest boast 
that we can ever make- — answer enough to cover with confusion 
the face and the heart of every man among us, in whose bosom 
the last spark of grace has not been extinguished. 

I will hope for better things. There is a spirit that will yet 



94 THE BAR. 

save us. I trust that we shall find it here — here in this sacred 
court ; where no foul and malignant demon of party enters to 
darken the understanding, or to deaden the heart, but where all 
is clear, calm, pure, vital, and firm. I cannot believe that this 
honorable court, possessing the power of preservation, will stand 
by, and see these people stripped of their property, and extirpated 
from the earth, while they are holding up to us their treaties, 
and claiming the fulfillment of our engagements. If truth, and 
faith, and honor, and justice, have fled from every other part of 
our country, we shall find them here. If not, our sun has gone 
down in treachery, blood, and crime, in the face of the world ; 
and, instead of being proud of our country, as heretofore, we 
may well call upon the rocks and mountains to hide our shame 
from earth and from heaven. william wirt. 



iy._ IRISH RELIGIOUS DISSENSIONS. 
From a speech at tlie trial of O'Connell, 1843. 

Sir, religious conflicts have been our bane. We of Ireland 
are prevented by our wretched religious distinctions from coop- 
erating for a single object by which *the honor and substantial 
interests of our comitry can be promoted. 

Fatal, disastrous, detestable distinctions! Detestable, because 
they are not only repugnant to the genuine spirit of Christianity, 
and substitute for the charities of religion the rancorous antipa- 
thies of sect, but because they practically reduce us to a colonial 
dependency; make the Union a name; substitute for a real 
Union a tie of parchment which an event might sunder ; con- 
vert a nation into an appurtenance; make us the footstool of the 
minister, the scorn of England, and the commiseration of the 
world ! 

Ireland is the only country in Europe in which abominable 
distinctions between Protestant and Catholic are permitted to 
continue. In Germany, where Luther translated the Scriptures ; 
in France, where Calvin wrote the Institutes, — ay, in the land of 
the Dragonados and St. Barthojomews ; in the land from whence 
the forefathers of one of the judicial functionaries of this court, 
and the first ministerial officer of the court, were barbarously 
driven, — the mutual wrongs done by Catholic and Protestant are 
forgiven and forgotten ; while we, madmen that we are, arrayed 
by that fell fanaticism which, driven from every other country 
in Europe, has found a refuge here, precipitate ourselves upon 
each other in those encounters of sectarian ferocity, in which our 



TRIBUTE TO AMERICAN CLERGYMEN. 95 

country, bleeding and lacerated, is trodden under foot. Yv^e con- 
vert the island that ought to be one of the most fortunate in the 
sea, into a receptacle of degradation and of suffering; counteract 
the designs of Providence, and enter into a conspiracy for the 
frustration of the beneficent designs of God. 

EICHARD LALOR SHIEL. 



Y.— TRIBUTE TO AMERICAN CLERGYMEN. 

Erom the speech in the Girard "Will Case. 

Sir, by the will of Mr. Grirard, no minister of the Gospel, of 
any sect or denomination whatever, can be authorized or allowed 
to hold any office within the college ; and not only that, but no 
minister or clergyman of any sect can, for any purpose whatever, 
enter within the walls that are to surround this college. Now, 
I will not arraign Mr. Girard or his motives for this. I will 
not inquire into Mr. Girard's opinions upon religion. But I feel 
bound to say, the occasion demands that I should say, that this is 
the most opprobrious, the most insulting and unmerited stigma, 
that ever was cast, or attempted to be cast, upon the preachers 
of Christianity, from north to south, from east to west, through 
the length and breadth of the land, in the history of the country. 
When have they deserved it? — where have they deserved it? — 
how have they deserved it ? They are not to be allowed even 
the ordinary rights of hospitality : not even to be permitted to 
put their foot over the threshold of this college ! 

Sir, I take it upon myself to say, that in no country in the 
world, upon either continent, can there be found a body of min- 
isters of the Gospel who perform so much service to man, in such 
a full spirit of self-denial, under so little encouragement from 
government of any kind, and under circumstances almost always 
much straitened and often distressed, as the ministers of the Gos- 
pel in the United States, of all denominations. They form no 
part of any established order of religion; they constitute no 
hierarchy ; they enjoy no peculiar privileges. In some of the 
States they are even shut out from all participation in the polit- 
ical rights and privileges enjoyed by their fellow-citizens. They 
enjoy no tithes, no public provision of any kind. Except here 
and there, in large cities, where a wealthy individual occasion- 
ally makes a donation for the support of public worship, what 
have they to depend upon ? They have to depend entirely on 
the voluntary contributions of those who hear them. 

And this body of clergymen have shown, to the honor of their 
own country, and to the astonishment of the hierarchies of the 



96 THE BAR. 

Old World, that it is practicable in free governments to raise and 
sustain, bj voluntary contributions alone, a body of clergymen, 
wKich, for devotedness to their sacred calling, for purity of life 
and character, for learning, intelligence, piety, and that wisdom 
which Cometh from above, is inferior to none, and superior to 
most others. 

I hope that our learned men have done something for the 
honor of our literature abroad. I hope that the courts of justice 
and the members of the bar of this country have done some- 
thing to elevate the character of the profession of the law. I 
hope that the discussions in Congress have done something to 
meliorate the condition of the human race, to secure and extend 
the great charter of human rights, and to strengthen and advance 
the great principles of human liberty. But I contend that no 
literary efforts, no adjudications, no constitutional discussions, 
nothing that has been done or said in favor of the great inter- 
ests of universal man, has done this country more credit, at 
home and abroad, than the establishment of our body of clergy- 
men, their support by voluntary contributions, and the general 
excellence of their character for piety and learning. 

The great truth has thus been proclaimed and proved, — -a 
truth which I believe will, in time to come, shake all the hierar- 
chies of Europe, — that the voluntary support of such a minis- 
try, under free institutions, is a practicable idea, websteh. 



VI.— FORFEITURES IN TIME OF WAR. 
In the case of 'Hhe British Debts/' 1791. 

The first point, gentlemen of the jury, which I shall endeavor 
to establish, will be, that debts in common wars become subject 
to forfeiture ; and, if forfeited in common wars, much more must 
they be so in a revolutionary war, as the late contest was. In 
this war we had a right to consider British debts as subject to 
confiscation, and to seize the property of those who originated 
that war. Notwithstanding the equity and fairness of the debt 
when incurred, if the security of the property received was after- 
wards destroyed, the title has proved defective. The title was 
destroyed by the very men who come here now and demand pay- 
ment. For the long catalogue of offences committed against the 
citizens of America every individual of the British nation is 
accountable. How are you to be com-pen' sated for those depre- 
dations on persons and property ? Are you to go to England to 
find the very individual who did you the outrage, and demand 



THE PRESS THE PROTECTION OE THE PEOPLE. 97 

satisfaction of him ? To tell you of snch a remedy as this, is add- 
ing insult to injury. Every individual is chargeable with national 
oifences. 

What vfould have been the consequences, sir, if we had been 
conquered ? Would we not have shared the fate of the people 
of Ireland ? A great part of that island was con-fis'cated, though 
the Irish people thought themselves engaged in a laudable cause. 
What confisccitions and punishments were inflicted in Scotland, 
the plains of Culloden and the neighboring gibbets would show 
you. Thank Heaven that the spirit of liberty, under the pro- 
tection of the Almighty, saved us from experiencing so hard a 
destiny ! Had we been subdued, would our debts have been 
saved ? Would it not have been absurd for the enemy to save 
debts, while they would have burned, hanged, and destroyed ? 
I would not have wished to live to see the sad scenes we should 
have experienced. Needy avarice and salvage cruelty would 
have had full scope. 

If it be allowed to the British nation to con-iis'cate, not only 
debts, but life, may we not confiscate — not life, for we never 
desire it ; but that which is the common object of confiscation — 
property, goods, and debts, which strengthen ourselves and weaken 
our enemies? If there ever was a case requiring the full use of 
all human means, it was ours in the late contest ; and, sir, I 
therefore maintain that we were v/arranted in confiscating the 
British debts. Patrick henry. 



VII.-— THE PRESS THE PROTECTION OE THE PEOPLE. 
At the trial of John Magee for a libel against the Duke of Richmond. 

The attorney-general has talked of his impartiality : he will 
suppress, he says, the licentiousness of the press. Gentlemen, 
the attorney "general was waited on, and respectfully requested 
to prosecute the Hibei^nian journal upon the terms of having the 
falsehood of certain libelous assertions first proved to him. I 
need not tell you he refused. These are not the libelers he 
prosecutes. 

Contrast the situation of my client with that of the propri- 
etor of the Hibernian journal. The one is prosecuted with all the 
weight and influence of the crown, the other pensioned by the 
ministers of the crown; the one dragged to your bar for the 
sober discussion of political topics, the other hired to disseminate 
the most horrid calumnies. Let the attorney-general now boast 
of his impartiality ; can you credit him on your oaths? Let 
9 



98 THE BAR. 

him talk of his veneration for the liberty of the press ; can yon 
believe him in your consciences ? Let him call the press the pro- 
tection of the people against the government. Yes, gentlemen, 
believe him when he says so ! Let the press he the protection 
of the people ! — he admits that it ought to be so. Will you find 
a verdict for him that shall contradict the only assertion upon 
which he and I, however, are both agreed ? Gentlemen, the 
attorney-general is bound by this admission. It is part of his 
case, and he is the prosecutor here. It is a part of the evidence 
before you, for he is the prosecutor. Then, gentlemen, it is your 
duty to act upon that evidence, and to allow the press to aiford 
some protection to the people. 

Is there amongst you any one friend, to freedom ? Is there 
amongst you one man who esteems equal and impartial justice, 
who values the people's rights as the foundation of private happi- 
ness, and who considers life as no boon without liberty? Is there 
amongst you one friend to the constitution ? — one man who hates 
oppression ? If there be, my client appeals to his kindred mind, 
and confidently expects an acquittal. There are amongst you 
men of great religious zeal — of much public piety. Are you 
sincere ? Do you believe what you profess ? With all this zeal, 
with all this piety, is there any conscience amongst you? Is 
there any terror of violating your oaths ? Ee ye hypocrites, or 
does genuine religion inspire you ? If you be sincere, if you 
have consciences, if your oaths can control your interests, then 
my client confidently expects an acquittal. If amongst you there 
be cherished one ray of pure religion, if amongst you there glow 
a single spark of liberty, if I have alarmed patriotism or roused 
the spirit of freedom in one breast amongst you, my client is 
safe, and his country is served. But, if there be none — if you 
be slaves and hypocrites — he will await your verdict, and des- 
pise it. DANIEL O'CONNELL. 



Vni. — ON BEING FOUND GUILTY OF TREASON. 

A JURY of my countrymen have found me guilty of the crime 
for which I stood indicted. For this I entertain not the slightest 
feeling of resentment towards them. Influenced, as they must 
have been, by the charge of the lord chief justice, they could 
have found no other verdict. What of that charge? Any strong- 
observations on it I feel sincerely would ill befit the solemnity 
of this scene ; but I would earnestly beseech of you, my lord, — 
you who preside on that bench, — when the passions and preju-. 



ON BEING FOUND GUILTY OF TREASON. 99 

dices of this hour have passed away, to appeal to jour own con- 
science, and to ask of it, was your charge as it ought to have 
been, impartial and indifferent between the subject and the 
crown. 

My lords, you may deem this language unbecoming in me, and 
perhaps it may seal my fate. But I am here to speak the truth, 
whatever it may cost ; I am here to regret nothing I have ever 
done — to retract nothing I have ever said. I am here to crave, 
with no lying lip, the life I consecrate to the liberty of my coun- 
try. Far from it, even here — here, where the thief, the liber- 
tine, the murderer, have left their foot-prints in the dust ; here, 
on this spot, where the shadows of death surround me, and from 
which I see my early grave in an unanointed soil opened to re- 
ceive me — even here, encircled by these terrors, the hope which 
has beckoned me to the perilous sea upon which I have been 
wrecked still consoles, animates, enraptures me. 

iSTo, I do not despair of my poor old country — her peace, her 
liberty, her glory. For that country, I can do no more than bid 
her hope. To lift this island up, — to make her a benefactor to 
humanity, instead of being the meanest beggar in the world, to 
restore to her her native powers and her ancient constitution, — 
this has been my ambition, and this ambition has been my crime. 
Judged by the law of England, I know this crime entails the 
penalty of death ; but the history of Ireland explains this crime, 
and justifies it. Judged by that history, I am no criminal, I 
deserve no punishment. Judged by that history, the treason of 
which I stand convicted loses all its guilt, is sanctioned as a 
duty, will be ennobled as a sacrifice. With these sentiments, my 
lord, I await the sentence of the court. 

Having done what I felt to be my duty, — having spoken what 
I felt to be the truth, as I have done on every other occasion of 
my short career, — I now bid farewell to the country of my birth, 
my passion, and my death ; the country whose misfortunes have 
invoked my sympathies ; whose factions I have sought to still ; 
whose intellect I have prompted to a lofty aim ; whose freedom 
has been my fatal dream. I offer to that country, as a proof of 
the love I bear her, and the sincerity with which I thought and 
spoke and struggled for her freedom, the life of a young heart, 
and with that life all the hopes, the honors, the endearments, of a 
happy and an honored home. Pronounce, then, my lords, the sen- 
tence which the laws direct, and I will be prepared to hear it. I 
trust I shall be prepared to meet its execution. I hope to be 
able, with a pure heart and perfect composure, to appear before 
a higher tribunal — a tribunal where a Judge of infinite good- 



100 THE BAR. 

ness as well as of justice Yfill preside, and where, mjlord;^, many, 
many of the judgments of this world will be reversed. 

MEAGHER. 



IX.— PUBLIC SILENCE AT A TRIAL. 

From a speecli on the trial of Mr. Justice Johnson, Dublin, Feb. 4, 1805, 
for a libel on Lord Hardwicke, Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland. 

My lords, it has fallen to my lot, either fortunately or 
unfortunately, as the event may be, to rise as counsel for my 
client on this most important and momentous occasion. Sorry 
am I that the task has not been confided to more adequate pow- 
ers ; but, feeble as mine are, they will, at least, not shrink from 
it. I move you, therefore, that Mr. Justice Johnson be released 
from illegal imprisonment. 

I can not but observe the sort of scen'ic preparation with which 
this sad drama is sought to be brought forward. In part, I 
approve it ; in part, it excites my disgust and indignation. I 
observe, too, the dead silence into which the public is frowned by 
authority for the sad occasion. No man dares to mutter ; no 
newspaper dares to whisper that such a question is afloat. It 
seems an inquiry among the tombs, or, rather, in the shades 
beyond them. I am glad it is so ; I am glad of this factitious 
dumbness ; for if murmurs dared to become audible, my voice 
would be too feeble to drown them. But when all is hushed, 
when nature sleeps, the weakest voice is heard ; the shepherd's 
whistle shoots across the listening darkness of the interniinable 
heath, and gives notice that the wolf is upon his walk ; and the 
same gloom and stillness that tempt the monster to come abroad, 
facilitate the communication of the warning to beware. Yes, 
through that silence the voice shall be heard ; yes, through that 
silence the shepherd shall be put upon his guard ; yes, through 
that silence shall the felon savage be chased into the toil. 

Yes, my lords, I feel myself cheered and impressed by the 
composed and dignified attention with which I see you are dis- 
posed to hear me on the most important question that has ever 
been subjected to your consideration ; the most important to the 
dearest rights of the human being ; the most deeply interesting 
and animating that can beat in his heart, or burn upon his tongue. 

0, how recreating is it to feel that occasions may arise in 
which the soul of man may reilssume her pretensions ; — in which 
she hears the voice of nature whisper to her, '' os homini sul- 
li'me dedit^ ccB-lumque tit-e'ri jussit I " — in which even I can 
look up with calm security to the court, and dow?i with the most 



THE PLAINTIFF DENOUNCED. 101 

profound contempt upon the reptile I mean to tread upon. I 
say reptile, my lords, because, when the proudest man in society 
becomes so much the dupe of his childish malice as to wish to 
inflict on the object of his vengeance the poison of his sting, — to 
do a reptile's work, — he must shrink into a reptile's dimensions ; 
and, so shrunk, the only way to assail him is to tread upon him. 

CURRAN. 

X.— THE PLAINTIFF DENOUNCED. 

From the speech in the Wilkinson triaL 
GrENTLEMEN, although my clients are free from the charge of 
shedding blood, there is a murderer, and, strange to say, his name 
appears upon the indictment, not as a criminal, but a prosecutor. 
His garments are wet with the blood of those upon whose deaths 
you hold this solemn inquest. Yonder he sits, allaying for a 
moment the hunger of that fierce vulture. Conscience, by casting 
before it the food of pretended regret, and false but apparent 
eagerness for justice. He hopes to appease the manes of his 
slaughtered victims — victims to his falsehood and treachery — 
by sacrificing upon their graves a hecatomb of innocent men. 
By base misrepresentations of the conduct of the defendants, he 
induced his imprudent friends to attempt a vindication of his 
pretended wrongs, by violence and bloodshed. His clansmen 
gathered at his call, and followed him for vengeance ; but when 
the fight began, and the keen weapons clashed in the sharp con- 
flict, where was the wordy warrior? Ay, "where was Roderick 
then?" jS'o "blast upon his bugle horn" encouraged his com- 
panions as they were laying down their lives in his quarrel ; no 
gleam of his dagger indicated a desire to avenge their fall. With 
treacherous cowardice he left them to their fate, and all his 
vaunted courage ended in ignominious flight. 

Sad and gloomy is the path that lies before him. You will in 
a few moments dash, untasted, from his lips, the sweet cup of 
revenge, to quaff whose intoxicating contents he has paid a price 
that would have purchased the goblet of the Egyptian queen. I 
behold gathering around him, thick and fast, dark and corroding 
cares. That face, which looks so ruddy, and even now is flushed 
with shame and conscious guilt, will from this day grow pale, 
until the craven blood shall refuse to visit the haggard cheek. 
In his broken and distorted sleep his dreams will be more fearful 
than those of the " false, perjured Clarence ; " and around his 
waking pillow, in the deep hour of night, will flit the ghosts of 
his victims, of Meeks and of Rothwell, shrieking their curses in 



his shrinking ear. 



9* 



102 THE BAR. 

Upon his head rests not only the blood shed in this unfortunate 
strife, but also the soul-killing crime of perjury ; for, surely as 
he lives, did the words of craft and falsehood fall from his lips 
ere they were hardly loosened from the holy volume. But I 
dismiss him, and do consign him to the furies, trusting, in all 
charity, that the terrible punishment he must suffer from the 
scorpion-lash of a guilty conscience will be considered in his last 
account. ^ s. s. prentisg. 



XI. — CATHOLIC EMANCIPATION. 

From the speech in defense of Rowan, tried for libel. 

This paper, gentlemen of the jury, insists upon the necessity 
of emancipating the Catholics of Ireland, and that is charged sm 
a part of the libel. If they had waited another year, if they 
had kept this prosecution impending for another year, how much 
would remain for a jury to decide upon, I should be at a loss to 
discover. It seems as if the progress of public reformation was 
eating away the ground of the prosecution. Since the commence- 
ment of the prosecution, this part of the libel has unluckily 
received the sanction of the legislature. In that interval our 
Catholic brethren have obtained that admission, which it seems 
it was a libel to propose : in what way to account for this, I am 
really at a loss. Have any alarms been occasioned by the eman- 
cipation of our Catholic brethren ? Has the bigoted malignity 
of any individuals been crushed ? Or, has the stability of the 
government, or has that of the country, been weakened ? Or, is 
one million of subjects stronger than four millions? Bo you 
think that the benefit they received should be poisoned by the 
sting of vengeance? Do you think it wise or humane, at this 
moment, to insult them, by sticking up in a pillory the man who 
dared to stand forth their advocate ? I put it to your oaths ; do 
you think that a blessing of that kind, that a victory obtained 
by justice over bigotry and oppression, should have a stigma 
cast upon it by an ignominious sentence upon men bold and honest 
enough to propose that measure : to propose the redeeming of 
relio'ion from the abuses of the church : the reclaimincr of three 
millions of men from bondage, and giving liberty to all who had 
a right to demand it — giving, I say, in the so much censured 
words of this paper, giving " Universal Emancipation." 

I speak in the spirit of the British law, which makes liberty 
commensurate with and inseparable from British soil ; which 
proclaims even to the stranger and the so'journer, the moment he 



GOVERNMENT INFORMEllS. 103 

sets his foot upon British earth, that the ground on which he 
treads is holy, and consecrated by the genius of universal eman- 
cipation. 2^0 matter in what language his doom may have been 
pronounced ; no matter what complexion incompatible with 
freedom an Indian or an African sun may have burnt upon him ; 
no matter in what disastrous battle his liberty may have been 
cloven down ; no matter with what solemnities he may have 
been devoted upon the altar of slavery ; — ■ the first moment he 
touches the sacred soil of Britain, the altar and the god sink 
together in the dust ; his soul walks abroad in her own majesty ; 
his body swells beyond the measure of his chains, that burst 
fi-om around him ; and he stands redeemed, regenerated, and 
disenthralled, by the irresistible genius of universal emancipation. 

CURRAN. 



v. — GOVERNMENT INFORMERS, 
Prom the speech at the trial of Finnerty. 

G-ENTLEMEN of the jury, it is not upon my client that you are 
sitting in judgment ; you are sitting in judgment upon the lives 
and liberties of the inhabitants of more than half of Ireland. 
You are to say that it is a foul proceeding to condemn the gov- 
ernment of Ireland. You are caHed upon, on your oaths, to say 
that the government is wise and merciful, the people prosperous 
Mad happy ; and that the statements of a contrary import are 
libelous and false. 

How could you reconcile with such a verdict the jails, the 
gibbets, the conflagrations, the murders, the proclamations, that 
we hear of every day ? What is the state of Ireland, and where 
shall you find the wretched inhabitant of this land ? You may 
fiai him, perhaps, in a jail, the only place of security — I had 
almost said of ordinary habitation ! If you do not find him 
there, you may see him flying with his family from the flames of 
his own dwelling, lighted to his dungeon by the conflagration of 
his hovel ; or you may find his bones bleaching on the green 
fields of his country ; or you may find him tossing on the surface 
of the ocean, and mingling his groans with tempests, less savage 
than his persecutors. 

Is this a " foul misrepresentatian "? Or can you, with these 
facts ringing in your ears, and staring in your face, say, upon 
your oaths, that they do not exist ? 

But the learned gentleman is further pleased to say, that the 
trav'erser has charged the government with the encouragement 



104 THE BAR. 

of informers. This, gentlemen, is another small fact that you 
are to deny at the hazard of your souls, and upon the solemnity 
of your oaths. You are, upon your oaths, to say to the sister 
country, that the government of Ireland uses no such abominable 
instruments of destruction as informers. Let me ask you, hon- 
estly, what do you feel when, in my hearing, when, in the face 
of this audience, you are called upon to give a verdict that every 
man of us, ay, and every man of you, know, by the testimony of 
your own eyes, to be utterly and absolutely false ? 

I speak not now of the public proclamation for informers, with 
a promise of secrecy and of extravagant reward ; I speak not of 
the fate of those horrid wretches who have been so often trans- 
ferred from the table to the dock, and from the dock to the pil- 
lory ; I speak of what your own eyes have seen, day after day, 
during the course of this commission, from the box where you 
are now sitting ; — the number of horrid miscreants who acknowl- 
edged, upon their oaths, that they had come from the seat of 
government, — from the very chambers of the Castle, — where 
they had been v/orked upon, by the fear of death and the hope 
of compensation, to give evidence against their fellows ; that the 
mild, the wholesome, and merciful councils of this government 
are holden over these catacombs of living death, where the wretch, 
that is buried a man, lies till his heart has time to fester and 
dissolve, and is then dug up — a witness ! 

Is this a picture created by a hag-ridden fancy, or is it fact ? 
Have you not seen him, after his resurrection from that region 
of death and corruption, make his appearance upon the table, the 
living image of life and of death, and the supreme arbiter of 
both ? Have you not marked, when he entered, how the stormy 
wave of the multitude retired at his approach ? Have you not 
seen how the human heart bowed to the supremacy of his power, 
in the undissembled homage of deferential horror ? — how his 
glance, like the lightning of heaven, seemed to rive the body of 
the accused, and mark it for the grave, while his voice warned the 
devoted wretch of woe and death, — a death which no innocence 
can escape, no art elude, no force resist, no antidote prevent. 
There was an antidote — a juror's oath ! — but even that adaman- 
tine chain, that bound the integrity of man to the throne of eter- 
nal justice, is solved and molten in the breath that issues from 
the informer's mouth ; conscience swings from her moorings, and 
the appalled and affrighted juror consults his own safety in the 
surrender of the victim. curran. 

Traverser, a terra in law for one who traverses or opposes a plea or indict- 
ment. 



PART THIRD. - THE CAMP. 



I. — CATILINE TO HIS TROOPS, 

On many and great occasions, soldiers ! I haye known you 
brave and faithful ; and now the greatest and noblest undertaking 
of all invites us. You are at last aware of my designs. Rome's 
rulers must be changed. The enterprise is bold, — ay, some may 
call it rash, and denounce me as Catiline the conspirator. But 
my confidence in our venture increases daily, the more I reflect 
what our fate is likely to be if we do not vindicate our freedom 
by our own right hands. 

What is the condition of the republic ? Under the dominion 
of a haughty few, to whom kings yield their tributes and princi- 
palities their profits, all the rest of the people, whether noble or 
ignoble, are regarded as ihe mere vulgar by these stern, uncom- 
promising masters. Without influence, without authority, we, 
who, under the commonwealth, should be to them a terror, are a 
scorn. All honor, favor, power, wealth, are centered in them^ 
and in those whom they approve ; to us are left dangers, repulses, 
lawsuits, poverty ! 

How long will ye endure, bravest of men, this ignominy? 
How long will ye submit to despots like these ? Were it not 
better to die bravely, than drag cut a miserable and dishonored 
life, the sport of pride, the victims of disgrace ? Eut, by the 
faith of gods and men, victory is now in our own grasp ! Our 
strength is unimpaired, our minds energetic; theirs, enfeebled 
by age, emasculated by riches. All that is needed is a bold 
beginning \ the rest will follow of course. What man of any 
spirit can sit tamely down and see these lordly proprietors revel- 
ing in superfluous wealth ; wealth which they squander in ran- 
sacking the sea, in leveling mountains, while to us the common 
necessaries of life are wanting? Behold them, each with two or 
more superb palaces, while we hardly know where to lay our 
heads. Why, fellow-soldiers, when they buy pictures, statues, 
basso-relievos, they destroy the old to make way for the new. In 
every possible way do they lavish the gold wrung from the hard 
hand of toil ; and still their desires are unable to exhaust their 

means. But we -At home, we have only poverty; abroad, 

debts ; present adversity — - worse prospects. Is there indeed 
aught left us but our woe-stricken souls ? 

What, then, fellow-soldiers, shall we do? What but that 

105 



106 THE CAMP. 

which you have ever most desired ! Liberty is before your eyes ; 
and liberty will soon bring riches, glory, renown. These are the 
rewards that Fortune holds out to the victors. The time, the 
place, our dangers, our wants, the splendid spoils of war, exhort 
jou more than my words can do. As for myself, whether as a 
commander or a private soldier, make what use of me you will. 
Neither in soul nor in body will I be absent from your side ; arid 
you — you, I am persuaded, will prefer to command as rulers, 
rather than to obey as slavey. sallust [paraphrase from). 



IL — ALEXANDER THE GREAT TO HIS MEN. 

At length, fellow-soldiers, we enter on the last of our battles. 
How many regions have we traversed, looking forward to the 
victory which we must this day achieve ! We have crossed the 
Grran i-cus, we have climbed the ridges of Cilicia, we have passed 
through Syria and Egypt ; our very entrance into a country has 
been the signal of victory ; what more irresistible incitements 
could we have to confidence and glory ? The Persian fugitives, 
overtaken, rally and attempt to make head against us, simply 
because they can not fly. This is the third day that they have 
stood under their loads of armor, fixed in one position, scarcely 
surviving their terrors. 

What stronger proof of their desperate condition could they 
give than in burning their cities, and laying waste their fields ; 
thus acknowledging, in act, that whatever they cannot destroy 
must fall into our hands ! We hear of unknown tribes that 
have joined them, — tribes with barbarous names. Be sure, 
soldiers, their names are the most formidable part of them. But 
when were brave men scared by names? And how does it afiect 
the fate of this contest to know who are Scythians, or who Cadu- 
sians ? Obscurity is the lot of the ignoble. Heroes do not dwell 
in oblivion. These unwarlike hordes, dragged from their dens 
and caves, bring into the field — their alarming names! Well, 
even in names we can beat them ; for to such eminence in manly 
virtue have you arrived, that there is not a spot in the whole 
earth where the name of the Macedonians is not known and 
respected. 

Observe the wretched appointments of these barbarians. Some 
have no weapon but a dart ; others poise stones in a sling ; few 
have proper and efficient arms. There stands the larger moh — 
here stands the stronger arviy ! 

Soldiers! Intrepid sons of Macedonia! Your courage has 



CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGxVDE. 107 

been tried in many a well-fought field ; nor do I ask you now to 
show once more that bravery which could defy all odds, unless 
you see me^ Alexander, your general, fighting to the last gasp, in 
front of the banners ! My scars I shall count as ornaments. 
What spoils we seize shall be bestowed in honoring and enriching 
3^ourselves. Did Alexander ever stint you of your share ? 

Thus much to the brave. Should there be others here, — very 
few, if any, they must be, — let them consider, that, having 
advanced thus far, it is impossible for us to retreat. We must 
conquer — or we must perish. There is no alternative. Such is 
the extent of country to be retraced, so multiplied and difiicult 
are the rivers and mountains obstructing return, so hostile the 
tribes in our way, that we can cut a passage to our native land 
and our household gods no otherwise than by the sword. For- 
ward, then, Macedonians — forward to the field, and victory shall 
secure at once your glory and your safety ! 

QuiNTUS cuRTius {paraphrase from). 



III. „ CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE 

AT BALAKLAVA. 

Half a league, half a league, half a league onward, all in the 
valley of Death, rode the six hundred. " Charge ! " was the 
captain's cry : theirs not to reason why ; theirs not to make 
reply ; theirs but to do and die ! Into the valley of Death rode 
the six hundred. 

Cannon to right of them, cannon to left of them, cannon in 
front of them, volleyed and thundered. Stormed at with shot 
and shell, boldly they rode and well ; into the jaws of Death, 
into the mouth of Hell, rode the six hundred. 

Flashed all their sabers bare, flashed all at once in air, saber- 
ing the gunners there, charging an army, while ail the world 
wondered. Plunged in the battery smoke, fiercely the line they 
broke ; strong was the saber-stroke, making an army reel, shaken 
and sundered. Then they rode back ; but not — not the six 
hundred ! 

Cannon to right of them, cannon to left of them, cannon 
behind them, volleyed and thundered ; stormed at with shot and 
shell, they that had struck so well rode through the jaws of 
Death, half a league back again, up from the mouth of Hell, all 
that was left of them — left of six hundred! When can their 
glory fade? 0, the wild charge they made! — all the world 
wondered. Honor the charge they made — honor the Light 
Brigade ! Noble six hundred ! Alfred tennyson. / 



ft 



108 THE CAMP 



IV, — ALASCO TO HIS COUNTKYMEN. 

Soldiers, the chief, Malinski, has betrayed 

His post, and fled. I would that every knave 

He has left behind might strip the patriot cloak 

And follow him. Such ruffian spirits taint 

The cause of freedom. They repel its friends, 

And so disfigure it by blood and violence, 

That good men start, and tremble to embrace it. 

But now, my friends, a sterner trial waits us : 

Within yon castle's walls we sleep to-night, 

Or die to-day before them. Let each man 

Preserve the order of advance, and charge 

As if he thought his individual sword 

Could turn the scale of fate. String every heart 

To valor's highest pitch ; — fight, and be free ! 

This is no commcn conflict, set on foot 

Eor hireling hosts to ply the trade of war. 

Ours is a noble quarrel. Vv^e contend 

Eor what 's most dear to man, wherever found — 

Eree or enslaved — a savage, or a sage ; — 

The very life and being of our country. 

'T is ours to rescue from the oblivious grave, 

Where tyrants have combined to bury them, 

A gallant race, a nation, and her fame ; 

To gather up the fragments of our State, 

And in its cold, dismembered body breathe 

The living soul of empire. Such a cause 

Might warm the torpid earth, put hearts in stones, 

And stir the ashes of our ancestors, 

Till from their tombs our warrior sires come forth, 

E.ange on our side, and cheer us on to battle. 

Strike, then, ye patriot spirits, for your country ! 

Eight, and be free ! -— for liberty and Poland. shee. 



v. — A BATTLE-SONG FOR EHESDOM. 

Men of action ! men of might ! 
Stern defenders of the right ! 
Are you girded for the fight ? 

Have you marked and trenched the ground, 
Where the din of arms must sound, 
Ere the victor can be crowned ? 



SONG OF Marion's ivien. 109 

Have you guarded well the coast ? 
Have jou marshaled all your host ? 
Standeth each man at his post ? 

Have you counted up the cost ? 
What is gained and what is lost. 
When the foe your lines have crost ? 

Gained — the infamy of fame. 
Gained — a dastard's spotted name. 
Gained — eternity of shame. 

Lost — desert of manly worth. 
Lost — the right you had by birth. 
Lost — lost ! — freedom for the earth. 

Preemen, up ! The foe is nearing ! 
Haughty banners high uprearing — 
Lo, their serried ranks appearing ! 

Freemen, on ! The drums are beatintr ! 
Will you shrink from such a ineeting ? 
Forward ! Give them hero greeting ! 

From your hearths, and homes, and altars, 
J3ackward hurl your proud assaulters. 
He is not a man that falters. 

Hush ! The hour of fate is nigh. 

On the help of God rely ! 

Forward ! We will do or die ! g. Hamilton. 



yi._S0NG OF MARION'S MEN. 

Our band is few, but true and tried, — our leader frank and bold; 
The British soldier trembles when Marion's name is told. 
Our fortress is the good green wood, our tent the cypress-tree ; 
We know the forest round us as seamen know the sea. 
We know its walls of thorny vines, its glades of reedy grass, 
Its safe and silent islands within the dark morass. 

Woe to the English soldiery that little dread us near ! 
On them shall light, at midnight, a strange and sudden fear ; 
Yf hen, waking to their tents on fire, they grasp their arms in vain ; 
And they who stand to face us are beat to earth again ; 
And they who fly in terror deem a mighty host behind. 
And hear the tramp of thousands upon the hollow wind. 
10 



110 THE CAMP. 

Well knows the fair and friendly moon the band that Marion 

leads — 
The glitter of their rifles, the scampering of their steeds. 
'Tis life to guide the fiery barb across the moonlight plain ; 
'T is life to feel the night-wind that lifts his tossing mane. 
A moment in the British camp — a moment — and away, 
Back to the pathless forest, before the peep of day. 

Grave men there are by broad Santee, grave men with hoary hairs : 
Their hearts are all with Marion, for Marion are their prayers. 
And lovely ladies greet our band with kindliest welcoming, 
With smiles like those of summer, and tears like those of spring. 
For them we wear these trusty arms, and lay them down no more 
Till we have driven the Briton for ever from our shore. 

BRYANT. 



yil._ DARIUS TO HIS ARMY. 

This day, soldiers, will terminate or establish the largest 
empire that any age has known. But recently lords of all the 
climes from the Hellespont to the ocean, we have now to fight, 
not for glory, but for safety, and, for what we prize above safety 
— liberty ! If we can not make a stand here^ no place of retreat 
remains. By continued armaments every thing in our rear is 
exhausted. The cities are deserted. The very fields are aban- 
doned by their cultivators. Our wives and children, who have 
followed the levies, are but so many spoils prepared for the enemy, 
unless we interpose our bodies as a rampart before these dearest 
objects and pledges of affection. 

On my part, I have collected an army such as the largest plain 
can hardly contain. I have chosen a field of battle where our 
whole line can act. The rest depends on yourselves. Dare to 
conquer, and you will conquer ! We hear of the enemy's repu- 
tation. Heputation ! — As if that were a weapon which brave 
men had not learnt to despise ! These spacious plains expose the 
poverty of your foe — a poverty which the Cilician mountains 
concealed. We perceive thin ranks, wire-drawn wings, a center 
quite drained ; while their last line faces to the rear, in readiness 
to fly. 

If we but conquer now^ all the victories of the war will be 
transferred to us. The enemy have no place of refuge ; here 
the Euphrates bars them in, and there the Tigris. A heavy booty 
impedes their operations. Entangled in the spoils they have won 
from us, they may be easily overwhelmed ; and thus the means 
of our triumph will be its reward. 



HIGHLAND WAR-SONG. Ill 

Does a name startle you ? — the name of Alexander ? Let 
girls and cowards stand in awe of it ! Imprudent, reckless, 
absurd, our own irresolution, and not his courage, has been the 
cause of his successes hitherto. jSTothing that is not built on 
moderation can last. His prosperity has reached its height, and 
punishment now awaits his presumption. 

By our guardian deities, soldiers ! by the eternal fire car- 
ried before us on our altars ; by the dazzling sun which rises 
within the limits of my dominions ; by the immortal memory of 
Cyrus, who transferred the empire from the Medes and Lydians 
to the Persians ; by your hopes of freedom and your scorn of 
oppression, I con-jure' you to vindicate your name and nation 
from the last disgrace ! In your own right hands you carry 
liberty, power, and every future reliance. Whoever despises 
death, escapes it. Follow me, then, — for home and country, 
family and freedom, — follow me to the field ! 

QuiNTUS cuRTius {paraphrase fr 0771), 



VIII. — HIGHLAND WAE-SONG. 

Pibroch^ of Donuil Dhu, pibroch of Donuil, 
Wake thy wild voice anew, summon Clan-Conuil. 
Come away, come away, hark to the summons ! 
Come in your war array, gentles and commons ! 

Come from deep glen, and from mountain so rocky, 
The war-pipe and pennon are at Inverlochy ; 
Come every hill-plaid, and true heart that wears one. 
Come every steel-blade, and strong hand that bears one. 

Leave untended the herd, the flock without shelter ; 
Leave the corpse uninterred, the bride at the altar ; 
Leave the deer, leave the steer, leave nets and barges ; 
Come with your fighting gear, broadswords and targes. 

Come as the winds come, when forests are rended ; 
Come as the waves come, when navies are stranded : 
Faster come, faster come, faster and faster. 
Chief, vassal, page and groom, tenant and master. 

Fast they come, fast they come ; see how they gather ! 
Wide waves the eagle-plume, blended with heather. 
Cast your plaids, draw your blades, forward each man set ! 
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, knell for the onset ! 

SIR WALTER SCOTT. 

* A pibroch (pronounced pi'brok) is a martial air played with the bagpipe, 
Donuil, pronounce Don'nil. 



112 THE CAMP. 

IX. — ARMINIUS TO HIS SOLDIERS. 

Soldiers and friends ! we soon shall reach the ground 
Where your poor country waits the sacrifice, 
The holiest offering of her children's blood ! 
^ Here have we come, not for the lust of conquest. 
Not for the booty of the lawless plunderer ; 
No, friends, we come to tell our proud invaders 
That we will use our strength to purchase freedom ! 
Freedom — prime blessing of this fleeting life ! — 
Is there a man that hears thy sacred name, 
And thrills not to the sound with loftiest hope. 
With proud disdain of tyrant whips and chains ? 

Much-injured friends, your slavish hours are past ! 
Conquest is ours ! not that your German swords 
Have keener edges than the Roman falchions ; 
Not that your shields are stouter, nor your armor 
Impervious to the swift and deadly lance ; ' 

Not that your ranks are thicker than the Roman ; — 
No, no ; they will outnumber you, my soldiers ; — 
But that your cause is good ! They are poor slaves 
Who fight for hire and plunder, — pampered rufiians, 
Who have no souls for glory. We are Germans ; 
Who here are bound, by oaths indissoluble. 
To keep your glorious birthrights or to die ! 
This is a field where beardless boys might fight, 
And, looking on the angel Liberty, 
Might put such mettle in their tender arms 
That veteran chiefs would ill ward off their blows. 
I say no more, my dear and trusty friends ! 
Your glorious rallying^cry has music in it. 
To rouse the sleepiest spirit from his trance, — 
Eor Freedom and Germania ! murphy. 



X. — POLAND. 

Is Freedom's latest struggle o'er ? Is Poland fallen to rise no 
more ? Is Kosciusko's name forgotten ? Is the spirit fled, that 
once to deathless glory led, and never lessening fame ? No ! 
though the imperial Russ decree Poland shall never more be 
free, — she yet shall burst her chain, — again the sword of Free- 
dom wield, and in the blood-red battle-field her arch foe meet 
again. 

Who, but the driveling despots, dream, — all silent though 



HENRY V. TO HIS SOLDIERS. 113 

Sarmatia seem, — her noble spirit fied ? She sleeps a short and 
troubled sleep — but, when she wakes, let despots weep ! — 0, 
Poland is not dead ! Still, still, in Tyranny's despite, fair Lib- 
erty's all quenchless light shall stronger, brighter shine ! Fresh 
blood shall rush through Poland's veins, and Russia's self throw 
off her chains, and hail the maid divine ! 

Was Ostrolenska's fight in vain, — in vain the blood on Gro- 
chow's plain, like water freely poured ? And still must Kosci- 
usko's land be crushed beneath the withering hand of a barbarian 
lord ? Perish the thought ! our dawning day shall yet see Poland 
spurn the sway of Moscow's haughty czar. Till all the world 
shall own her free, or Time itself shall cease to be, her cry shall 
still be — War! 



XL — SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE. 

Warriors and chiefs ! should the shaft or the sword 
Pierce me in leading the hosts of the Lord, 
Heed not the corse, though a king's, in your path : 
Bury your steel in the bosoms of Grath ! 

Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow, 
Should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe, . 
Stretch me that moment in blood at thy feet ! 
Mine be the doom, which they dared not to meet. 

Farewell to others, but never we part. 

Heir to my royalty, son of my heart ! 

Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway. 

Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day ! byron. 



XII. — HENRY V. TO HIS SOLDIERS AT THE SIEGE OF 

HARFLEUR. 

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more ; 
Or close the wall up with our English dead ! 
In peace, there 's nothing so becomes a man 
As modest stillness and humility : 
But when the blast of war blows in our ears. 
Then imitate the action of the tiger ; 
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood. 
Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage : 
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect ; 
Let it pry through the portage of the head, 
Like the brass cannon. 
10^ 



114 * THE CAMP. 

Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide ; 

Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit 

To its fulP height ! On, on^ you noblest English, 

Whose blood is fetched from fathers of war proof I 

Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders, 

Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought, 

And sheathed their swords for lack of argument. 

I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, 

Straining upon the start. The game 's afoot ; 

Follow your spirit : and, upon this charge, 

Cry — God for Harry ! England ! and St, George ! 

SHAKSPEAKE. 



XIII. — GUSTAVUS VASA TO THE BALECAULIAt^S. 

Christian II., King of Denmark, having made himself master of Sweden, 
confined Grustavus at Copenhagen ; but he, making his escape, contrived to 
reach the Dalecarlian mountains, where he worked at the mines like a com- 
mon slave. Having seized a favorable opportunity, he declared himself to 
the miners and peasants, whom he incited to join his cause. Eortune 
-befriended him, and in the year 1527 he gained the throne of Sweden. 

Swedes ! countrymen ! behold at last, after a thousand dangers 
past, your chief, Gustavus, here ! Long have I sighed 'mid 
foreign bands, long have I roamed in foreign lands ; — at length, 
'mid Swedish hearts and hands, I grasp a Swedish spear ! Yet, 
looking forth, although I see none but the fearless and the free, 
sad thoughts the sight inspires ; for where, I think, on Swedish 
ground, save where these mountains frown around, can that best 
heritage be found — the freedom of our sires ? — Yes, Sweden 
pines beneath the yoke ; the galling chain our fathers broke is 
round our country now ! On perjured craft and ruthless guilt 
his power a tyrant Dane has built, and Sweden's crown, all 
blood-bespilt, rests on a foreign brow. 

On you your country turns her eyes — on you, on you, for 
aid relies, scions of noblest stem ! The foremost place in roils 
of fame, by right your fearless fathers claim ; yours is the glory 
of their name — 't is yours to equal the?n. — As rushing down, 
when winter reigns, resistless to the shaking plains, the torrent 
tears its way, and all that bars its onward course sweeps to 
the sea with headlong force, — so swept your sires the Dane and 
Norse : — can ye do less than they ? 

Else ! reassert your ancient pride, and down the hills a living 
tide of fiery valor pour. Let but the storm of battle lower, back 
to his den the foe will cower ; — then, then shall Freedom's 
glorious hour strike for our land once more ! What ! silent — 



GERMANICUS TO HIS MUTINOUS TROOPS. 115 

motionless, ye stand ? Gleams not an eye ? Moves not a hand ? 
Think ye to fly your fate ? Or till some better cause be given, 
wait ye ? — Then wait ! till, banished, driven, ye fear to meet 
the face of Heaven ; — till ye are slaughtered, wait ! 

But no ! your kindling hearts gainsay the thought. Hark ! 
Hear that bloodhound's bay ! Yon blazing village see ! Rise, 
countrymen ! Awake ! Defy the haughty Dane ! Your battle- 
cry be Freedom ! We will do or die ! On ! Death or victory ! 



^ XIV.-- GERMANICUS TO HIS MUTINOUS TROOPS. 

A. D. 14, the Roman soldiers on the lower Rhine mutinied on receiving 
the news of the death of the Emperor Augustus, and the accession of Tibe- 
rius. According to Tacitus, the following speech, by German'icus, the 
consul, recalled the mutinous troops to their duty, and restored discipline. 

To this audience what name shall I give ? Can I call you 
soldiers ? Soldiers ! you who have beset with arms the son of 
your emperor — confined him in your trenches ? Citizens, can I 
call you ? you who have trampled under your feet the authority 
of the Senate ; who have violated the most awful sanctions, even 
those which hostile states have ever held in respect — the rights 
of ambassadors and the laws of nations ? 

Julius C^sar, by a single word, was able to quell a mutiny : 
he spoke to the men who resisted his authority : he called 
them Romans, and they returned to their allegiance. Augus- 
tus showed himself to the legions who fought at Actium, and 
the majesty of his countenance awed them into submission. 
The distance between myself and these illustrious characters I 
know is great ; and yet, descended from them, with their blood 
in my veins, I should resent with indignation a parallel outrage 
from the soldiers of Syria or of Spain ; and will you, men of the 
first and the twentieth legions, — the former enrolled by Tiberius 
himself, the other his constant companions in so many battles, 
and by him enriched with so many bounties, — will you thus 
requite his benefits ? 

From every other quarter of the empire Tiberius has received 
none but joyful tidings ; and must I wound his ears with the 
news of your revolt? Must he hear from me, that neither the 
soldiers raised by himself, nor the veterans who fought under 
him, are willing to own his authority ? Must he be told that 
neither exemptions from service, nor money lavishly bestowed, 
can appease the fury of ungrateful miCn ? Must I tell him that 
here centurions are butchered, trib'unes expelled, ambassadors 



116 THE CAMP. 

imprisoned ; the camp and the rivers polluted with blood ; and 
that a E-oman general drags out a precarious existence; at the 
mercy of men implacable and mad ? 

Wherefore, on the first day that I addressed you, did you 
wrest from me that sword which 1 was on the point of plunging 
into my heart ? Ofiicious friends ! Greater was the kindness 
of that man who proffered me a sword. At all events, I should 
have fallen ere I had become aware of the enormities committed 
by my army. You would have chosen a general who, though he 
might leave my death unatoned for, would yet avenge the massa- 
cre of Varus and his three legions. May that revenge be still 
reserved for the Roman sword ! May the gods withhold from 
the Belgic states, though now they court the opportunity, the 
credit and renown of retrieving the Roman name, and of hum- 
bling the German nations ! May thy spirit, O, deified Augustus ! 
which is received into heaven, — thy image, my father Drusus ! — 
prevail with these soldiers, who, even now, I see, are touched 
with a noble remorse ! May your inspiration dispel the disgrace 
that sits heavy upon them ; and may the rage of civil discord 
discharge itself on the enemies of Rome ! tacitus. 



XV. — THE SONG OF MINA'S SOLDIERS. 

We heard thy name, O Mina ! 

Far through our hills it rang ; 
A sound more strong than tempests, 

More keen than armor's clang. 
The peasant left his vintage, 

The shepherd grasped the spear — 
W^e heard thy name, Mina ! 

The mountain bands are here. 

As eagles to the day-spring, 

As torrents to the sea, 
From every dark sierra 

So rushed our hearts to thee. 
Thy spirit is our banner, 

Thine eye our beacon-sign. 
*Thy name our trumpet, Mina ! 

The mountain bands are thine. 

MRS. IIEMANS. 



PART FOUR. — THE BEMA.^ 



L— AGAINST BRIBERY. 

It were better, Athenians ! to die ten thousand deaths, than 
to be guilty of a servile acquiescence in the usurpations of Philip. 
Not only is he no Grreek, and no way allied to Greece, but 
he sprang from a part of the barbarian world unworthy to be 
named — from Macedonia, where formerly we could not find a 
slave fit to purchase ! And why is it that the insolence of this 
man is so tamely tolerated ? Surely there must be some cause 
why the Grreeks, who were once so jealous of their liberty, now 
show themselves so basely submissive. It is this, Athenians 1 
They were formerly impelled by a sentiment which was more 
than a match for Persian gold ; a sentiment which maintained 
the freedom of Greece, and wrought her triumphs by sea and 
land, over all hostile powers. It was no subtle or mysterious 
element of success. It was simply this : an abhorrence of trai- 
tors ; of all who accepted bribes from those princes who were 
prompted by the ambition of subduing, or the base intent of cor- 
rupting, Greece. To receive bribes was accounted a crim.e of 
the blackest die — a crime which called for all the severity of 
public justice. No petitioning for mercy, no pardon, was 
allowed. Those favorable conjunctures with which fortime often- 
times assists the supine against the vigilant, and renders men, 
even when most regardless of their interests, superior to those 
who exert their utmost efforts, could never b*e sold by orator or 
general, as in these degenerate days. Our mutual confidence, 
our settled hatred and distrust of all tyrants and barbarians, 
could not be impaired or turned aside by the force of money. 

But now, opportunity, principles, private honor, and the public 
good, are exposed to sale as in a market ; and in exchange we 
have that pernicious laxity which is destroying the safety, the 
very vitals, of Greece. Let a man receive a bribe, he is envied ; 
let him _confess it, he provokes laughter ; let him be convicted, 
he is pardoned ! His very accusation only awakens resentment, 
so thoroughly is public sentiment corrupted ! Richer, more 
powerful, better prepared, than ever before, we lose all our 
advantages through these traffickers in their country's welfare. 

* The Bema was a raised place, or step, from which the Athenian orators 
spoke, "We have included under this head a specimen of Roman oratory. 

117 



118 THE BEMA. 

How was it formerly? Listen to the decree which your ances- 
tors inscribed upon a brazen column erected in the citadel : " Let 
Arthmius of Zelia, the son of Pythonax, be accounted infamous, 
and an enemy to the Athenians and their allies, both he and all 
his race!" Then comes the reason of his sentence: "Because 
he brought gold from Media into Peloponnes'us." This is the 
decree. And now, in the name of all the gods, think upon it ! 
Think what wisdom, what dignity appeared in this action of our 
ancestors ! This receiver of bribes they declare an enemy to 
them and their confederates, and that he and his posterity shall 
be infamous ! And the sentence imported something more ; for, 
in the laws relating to capital cases, it is enacted, that " when the 
legal punishment of a man's crime can not be inflicted, he may be 
put to death." And it was accounted meritorious to kill him ! 

" Let not the infamous man," says the law, " be permitted to 
live;" implying that the citizen is free from guilt who executes 
this sentence ! Such was the detestation in which bribery was 
held by our fathers ! " K\A hence was it that the Greeks were a 
terror to the barbarians — not the barbarians to the Greeks ! 
Hence was it that wars were fair and open; that battles were 
fought, not with gold^ but steel ; and won, if won at all, not by 
treachery^ but by force of arms ! Demosthenes. 



II.__THE SUBVERSION OF THE CONSTITUTION. 

There are those who may ask you, Athenians, " What real 
advantage have we derived from the speeches of Demosthenes? 
He rises when he thinks proper ; he deafens us with his ha- 
rangues ; he declaims against the degeneracy of present times ; 
he tells us of the virtues of our ancestors ; he transports us by 
his airy extravagance ; he puffs up our vanity ; and then — he 
sits down." 

But, Athenians, could these my speeches produce but their 
due effect upon your minds, so incalculable would be the advan- 
tages conferred upon my country, that were I to attempt to 
speak them, they would seem visionary to many ; yet still must 
I assume the merit of doing some service by accustoming you to 
hear salutary truths. From the inveterate habit of listening to 
falsehoods — to every thing rather than your real interests — 
your ears have become distempered ; and they must first be cured, 
if your counselors would be of any real service to you and your 
country. 

My countrymen, vouchsafe me a patient hearing ! It lately 



INVECTIVE AGAINST DEMOSTHENES. 119 

happened that certain persons "broke into the treasury; whereupon 
your speakers all instantly exclaimed, " Our free constitution 
is overturned ! Our laws are no more ! " Impossible ! I grant 
you, that those who are guilty of this crime justly deserve to 
die ! But, by such offenders, our constitution is not overturned. 

Again ; some oars have been stolen from our arsenal " Stripes 
and tortures for the villain ! Our constitution is subverted ! " 
This is the general cry. But what is my opinion ? This crim- 
inal, like the others, has deserved to die. But, if some are 
criminal, our constitution is not therefore subverted. 

There has been no man who has dared openly and boldly to 
declare in what case our constitution is subverted. But / shall 
declare it. When you, Athenians, become a helpless rabble, 
without conduct, without property, without arms, without order, 
without unanimity; when neither general nor any other person 
has the least respect for your decrees ; and when no man dares 
to inform you of this, your condition, to urge the necessary 
reformation, much less to exert his own efforts to effect it — then 
is your constitution subverted ! And this has been your case ! 

And now, be sure, my countrymen, that it is by arms we are 
to subdue our enemies — by arms we are to defend our State. 
It is not by our decrees that we can conquer. Assume your- 
selves the conduct of your own affairs. Do an equal duty, and 
share an equal glory ! In judgment, be ever humane ! In 
action, be ever terrible ! ib. 



ni.— INVECTIVE AGAINST DEMOSTHENES. 

To what causes, Athenians, is the prosperity or the calamity 
of a State to be ascribed ? To none so eminently as to its min- 
isters and generals. Turn your eyes on the state of Thebes. It 
subsisted once. It was once great. It had its soldiers and com- 
manders. There was a time when Pelop'idas led the "sacred 
band ; " when Epaminon'das and his colleagues commanded the 
army. Then did the Thebans gain the victory at Leuctra. Then 
did they pierce into the territories of La-ce-de'mon, before deemed 
inaccessible. Then did they achieve many and noble deeds. For 
what is the great security of every state and nation ? Grood 
generals and able ministers ! 

Let this be duly and attentively considered, and let us no 
longer suffer by the corrupt and pernicious conduct of Demos- 
thenes. Let it not be imagined that we shall ever want good 
men and faithful counselors. With all the generous severity of 



120 THE BEMA. 

our ancestors, let us punish the man whose bribery, whose trea- 
son, are unequivocally detected ; who could not resist the tempta- 
tion of gold ; who in war has proved himself a coward, in his 
civil conduct a busybody ; who, when his fellow-citizens are 
called forth to meet their enemies in the field, flies from his post, 
and hides himself at home ; when the danger is at home, and his 
aid is demanded here, pretends that he is an ambassador, and 
runs from the city ! 

Let this man no longer amuse you with airy hopes and false 
representations, and promises which he forgets as soon as uttered ! 
Let not his ready tears and lamentations move you ! Reserve 
all your pity for your country : your country, which his prac- 
tices have undone — your country, which now implores you to 
save it from a traitor's hand. When he would waken all your 
sympathy for Demosthenes, then turn your eyes on Athens. 
Consider her former glory. Contrast it with her present degra- 
dation ! And ask yourselves, whether Demosthenes has been 
reduced to greater wretchedness by Athens, or Athens by Demos- 
thenes ! DINARCHUS. 



IV. _ AGAINST CATILINE. 

Conscript Fathers, a camp is pitched against the Roman repub- 
lic within Italy, on the very borders of Etruria. Every day adds 
to the number of the enemy. The leader of those enemies, the 
commander of that encampment, walks within the walls of Rome; 
*takes his seat in this senate, the heart of Rome ; and, with ven- 
omous mischief, rankles in the inmost vitals of the common- 
wealth. Catiline, should I, on the instant, order my lictors to 
seize and drag you to the stake, some men might, even then, 
blame me for having procrastinated punishment; but no man 
could criminate me for a faithful execution of the laws. They 
shall be executed. But I will neither act, nor will I suffer, 
without full and sufficient reason. Trust me, they shall be exe- 
cuted ; and then, even then, when there shall not be found a man 
so flagitious, so much a Catiline, as to say you were not ripe for 
execution. 

Was not the night before the last sufficient to convince you 
that there is a good genius protecting that republic, which a fero- 
cious demoniac is laboring to destroy? I aver, that on that same 
night jou and your complotters assembled. Can even your own 
tongue deny it ? Yet secret ! Speak out, man ; for, if you do 
not, there are some I see around me who shall have an agonizing 
proof that I am true in my assertion. 



REPLY TO iESCHINES. 121 

Good and great gods, where are we ? What city do we inhabit? 
Under what government do we live ? Here — here, conscript 
fathers, mixed and mingled with us all — in the center of this 
most grave and venerable assembly — are men sitting, quietly 
incubating a plot against my life, against all your lives — the life 
of every virtuous senator and citizen; while I, with the whole 
nest of traitors brooding beneath my eyes, am parading in the 
petty formalities of debate ; and the very men appear scarcely 
vulnerable by my Voice, who ought long since to have been cut 
down with the sword. Proceed, Catiline, in your meritorious 
career ! Go where destiny and desire are driving you ! Evacu- 
ate the city for a season. The gates stand open. Begone ! What 
a pity that the Manlian army should look so long for their gen- 
eral ! Take all your loving friends along with you ; or, if that be 
a vain hope, take, at least, as many as you can, and cleanse the 
city for some short time. Let the walls of Rome be the mediators 
between me and thee ; for, at present, you are much too near. I 
will not suffer you ; I will not longer endure you ! 

Lucius Catiline, away ! Begin as soon as you can this shame- 
ful and unnatural war. Begin it, on your part, under the shade 
of every dreadfal omen ; on mine, with the sure and certain hope 
of safety to my country, and glory to myself : and, when this 
you have done, then, do Thou, whose altar was first founded by 
the founder of our state — Thou, the establisher of this city, 
pour out thy vengeance upon this man, and all his adherents ! 
Save us from his fury ; our public altars, our sacred temples, our 
houses and household gods, our liberties, our lives. Pursue, 
tutelar god ! pursue them, these foes to the gods and to goodness 
— these plunderers of Italy — these assassins of Rome! Erase 
them out of this life ; and in the next let thy vengeance follow 
them still, insatiable, implacable, immortal ! cicero. 



v. — REPLY TO ^SCHINES. 

Under what circumstances, Athenians, ought the strenuous 
and patriotic orator to appear ? When the state is in jeopardy, 
when the people are at issue with the enemy, then it is that his 
ve'hemence is timely. But now, when I stand clear on all 
hands, — by prescription, by judgments repeatedly pronounced, 
by my never having been convicted before the people of any 
offense, — and when more or less of glory has of necessity resulted 
to the public from my course — now it is that ^sohines turns up, 
and attempts to wrest from me the honors which you propose to 
bestow ! Personal spite and envy are at the bottom of all hia 
11 



122 THE BEMA. 

trumped-up charges, my fcllow-citizeiis ; and I proclaim him no 
true man. 

Consider, ^Eschines, whether you are not in reality the country's 
enemy, while you pretend to be only mine. Let us look at the 
acts of the orator rather than at the speech. He who pays his 
court to the enemies of the state does not cast anchor in the same 
roadstead with the people. Ke looks elsewhere than to them for 
his security. Such a man — mark me ! — am not I. I have 
always made common cause with the people, nor have I shaped 
my public course for my individual benefit. Can you say as 
much ? Can you ? You, vfho, instantly after the battle, re- 
paired as ambassador to Philip, the author of all our calamities ; 
and this after you had declared loudly, on previous occasions, 
against engaging in any such commission, — as all these citizens 
can testify ! 

What worse charge can any one bring against an orator than 
that his words and his deeds do not tally ? Yet you have been 
discovered to be such a man ; and you still lift your voice and 
dare to look this assembly in the face ! Think you they do not 
know you for what you are ? or that such a slumber and oblivion 
have come over them all as to make them forget the speeches in 
which, with oaths and imprecations, you disclaimed all dealings 
with Philip, and declared that I falsely brought this charge 
against you from personal enmity ? And yet, no sooner was the 
advice received of that fatal — ! that fatal — battle, than your 
asseverations were forgotten, your connection publicly avowed ! 
You affected to have been Philip's friend and guest. Such were 
the titles by which you sought to dignify your prostitution ! 

Eut read here the epitaph inscribed by the state upon the 
monument of the slain, that you may see yourself in it, JSschines, 
— unjust, calumnious, and profligate. Head ! 

" These were the brave, unknowing how to yield, 
Who, terrible in valor, kept the field 
Against the foe ; and, higher than life's breath 
Prizing their honor, met the doom of death, 
Our common doom — that Greece unyoked might stand, 
Nor shuddering crouch beneath a tyrant's hand. 
Such was the will of Jove 5 and now they rest 
Peaceful enfolded in their country's breast. 
The immortal gods alone are ever great, 
And erring mortals must submit to Fate.'* 

Do you hear, ^schines ? It pertains only to the gods to con- 
trol fortune and command success. To them the power of assur- 
ing victory to armies is ascribed, — not to the statesman, but to 
the gods. Wherefore, then, execrable wretch, wherefore upbraid 
me with what has happened ? Why denounce against me^ what 
may the just gods reserve for the heads of you and yours I 

DEMOSTHENES. 



PART FIFTH.— THE TRIBUNE.* 



L— THE DISOBEDIENCE OF MAGISTRATES. 

We have been told, gentlemen, that the magistrate is not 
bound to execute a law which he has not adopted. We are told 
that he is not obliged to adopt, as magistrate, a new law which 
does not suit him ; that, when he received his powers, he swore 
to render justice according to established laws. You now offer 
him new powers ; jou exact of him the application of new laws. 
What is his reply ? " I do not desire these powers. I do not 
engage to execute these laws." 

And I, in my turn, reply : These magistrates who are not 
willing to exercise those innctions that have reference to new laws, 
have they, in disobeying, abdicated their offices, and resigned 
their commissions? Unless they have done this, then is their 
conduct inconsistent with their principles. "We are justified," 
they say, " by our conscience, in disobeying the laws." Their 
conscience, like that of all men, is the result of their ideas, their 
sentiments, their habits of thought and action. Let them cease 
to be magistrates, these men who presume to regard the eternal 
rights of the people as "new laws; " — who reverence despotic 
authority, and whose conscience is wounded by the public liberty. 
Let them abdicate, and become once more as simple citizens ! 
Who will regret them ? 

Have not all the parliaments of the kingdom recognized the 
principle that the interruption of justice is a crime — that com- 
bined resignations are a forfeiture ? The magistrate, the soldier, 
every man who has public ftmctions to fulfill, may abdicate his 
place ; but can he desert his post ? Can he quit it in the criti- 
cal moment, at the approach of a combat, when his services are 
needed ? In such a moment, the refusal of the soldier would be 
an act of cowardice — the pretended scruples of magistrates 
would be a crime. 

The principle of these refractory officers is, that they will obey 
such laws only as suit them ; in other words, they will obey only 
themselves. If this be not a folly and a crime, what is our busi- 
ness here ? What need of legislation ? What is our power ? — 

* In the French National Assembly, every spealier Tvho formally addresses 
that body, instead of speaking from his place, as in the legislative halls of 
England and the United States, ascends a sort of elevated platform, called a 
t/ib'une, from which he harangues his hearers. 

123 



124 THE TRIBUNE. 

what the object of our labors? Let us hasten to repluiige into 
nothingness that constitution which has given birth to so many 
false hopes. Let the aurora of public liberty be eclipsed, and 
let the eternal night of despotism cover once more the earth. 

MIRABEAU. 



II. — REPLY TO AN ORDER 



THROUGH M. DE BBEZE, FROM THE KING, FOR THE DISPERSION OF THE 
NATIONAL ASSEMBLY, JUNE 23D, 1789. 

The Commons of France have resolved to deliberate. We 
have heard the intentions that have been attributed to the king ; 
and you, sir, who can not be recognized as his organ to the 
National Assembly, — you, who have here neither place, voice, 
nor right to speak, — you are not the person to bring to us mes- 
sage of his. Gro, say to those who sent you, that we are here by 
the power of the people, and that we will not be driven hence 
save by the power of the bayonet. ib. 



III. --ON WAR BEING DECLARED. 

You owe it now to the nation, members of the Assembly, to 
take all means to assure the success of the great and terrible 
determination by which you have signalized this memorable day. 
Recall to mind the occasion of that general federation when all 
Frenchmen pledged their lives to the defense of liberty and the 
constitution. Kecall to mind the oath which you yourselves took 
on the fourteenth of January, to be buried under the ruins of 
this temple sooner than consent to the slightest capitulation, or 
to a sino;le modification of the constitution. 

What heart so frigid that it does not palpitate in this supreme 
crisis? What soul so abject that it does not mount, if I may so 
speak, even to heaven, upon the acclamations of the universal 
joy ? What man so apathetic that he does not feel his whole 
being expanded, and his energies uplifted far above the ordinary 
level of humanity, by a noble enthusiasm ? 

Ah ! then, give once more to France, to Europe, the imposing 
spectacle of a great national consecration. Revive that intrepid 
spirit, before which Bastilles were crumbled ! Let the whole empire, 
in every part, reecho those words sublime, "Liberty or death! 
The constitution! — the whole constitution, unmodified, — or 
death ! " Let these cries shake the very thrones in league 
against you ; let monarchs learn that they have reckoned in vain 



A 



ON THE PUNISHMENT OF LOUIS XVI. 125 

upon our internal divisions ; that at a moment when the country 
is in danger, we are animated by one only passion — that of sav- 
ing her or perishing in her behalf ; that, finally, if, in the coming 
struggles, fortune should betray so righteous a cause as ours, our 
enemies may indeed have it in their power to insult our lifeless 
bodies, but never, never shall they profane one living Frenchman 
with their fetters ! ^ vergniaud. 



IY._ON THE PUNISHMENT OF LOUIS XVL 

To what punishment shall we condemn Louis the Sixteenth ? 
"The punishment of death is too cruel," says one. " No," says 
another, " life is more cruel still ; let him live." Advocates of 
the king, is it from pity or from cruelty that you wish to with- 
draw him from the penalty of his crimes ? For my part, I 
abhor the punishment of death, inflicted so unsparingly by your 
laws, and I have for Louis neither love nor hatred ; I hate only 
his crimes. I asked for the abolition of the punishment of death 
in the Assembly which you still call Constituent, and it is not 
my fault if the first principles of reason appeared to it moral and 
political heresies ; but, if you never thought of renouncing them 
in favor of so many unfortunate men, whose offenses are less 
theirs than those of the government, by what fatality do you 
remember them only to plead the cause of the greatest of all 
criminals ? 

You demand an exception to the punishment of death for him 
alone who can render it legitimate ! Yes, the punishment of 
death, in general, is a crime ; and, for this reason alone, that, 
according to the indestructible principles of nature, it can be 
justified only in the cases where it is necessary for the security 
of individuals or of society. Now, the public security never calls 
for it against ordinary offenses, because society can always pre- 
vent them by other means, and put it out of the power of the 
guilty to be dangerous ; but a dethroned king in the bosom of a 
revolution, which is nothing less than cemented by laws, — a king 
whose name alone brings down the plague of war upon the agi- 
tated nation, — neither imprisonment nor exile can render his 
existence a matter of indifference to the public welfare ; and this 
cruel exception to ordinary laws, which justice avows, can only 
be imputed to the nature of his crimes. I pronounce with regret 
this fatal truth; but Louis must die, because the country must 

* ''These lyric words of Yergniaud," says Lamartine, ''resounded at Ber- 
lin and Vienna." The campaign was opened b}' France before Prussia and 
Austria had completed their armaments. 
11=^ 



126 THE TRIBUNE. 

live. A people at peace, free and respected within and without, 
might listen to the advice which is given you to be generous ; 
but a people whose liberty is still disputed, after so many sacri- 
fices and combats, can not afford to do so. robespierre. 



v. — ON BEING CALLED AN ARISTOCRAT. 

You have called me an a-ris'tocrat. Listen to my reply. My 
only aristocracy is the superiority which industry, frugality, per- 
severance, and intelligence, will always assure* to every man in a 
free state of society. I belong only to those privileged classes 
to which you may all belong in your turn. The privileges are 
not created for us, but created by us. Our wealth is our own ; 
we have ma^e it. Our ease is our own ; we have gained it by 
the sweat of our brows, or by the labor of our minds. Our posi- 
tion in society is not conferred upon us, but purchased by our- 
selves, — with our own intellect, application, zeal, patience, and 
industry. If you remain inferior to us, it is because you have 
not the intellect or the industry, the zeal or the sobriety, the 
patience or the application, necessary to your advancement. This 
is not our fault, but your own. 

You wish to become rich, as some men do to become wise ; 
but there is no royal road to wealth, any more than there is to 
knowledge. You sigh for the ease and repose of wealth, but you 
are not willing to do that which is necessary to procure them. 
The husbandman who will not till his ground shall reap nothing 
but thistles and briers. You think that there must be something- 
wrong in human society, if you do not become wealthy and 
powerful ; but what right have you to expect — you idlers and 
drones in the hive — you shall always be fed on the honey and 
sweets of life ? What right have you, who do nothing for your- 
selves, your families, your country, or your kind, to imagine that 
you will be selected for public favor, confidence, and reward ? 

I am not an aristocrat in that sense of the term in which it 
may be applied in absolute governments, or under imperial rule ; 
but, if by an aristocrat you mean a man who has earned his pro- 
motion by his labor, his honors by his toils, and his wealth by 
his industry, 0, then, indeed, I am an aristocrat ; and, please 
God, I will always remain so. The distinctions in human society 
displease you, because you have not the talent or the industry to 
amend your own position. You are too idle to labor, and too 
proud to beg ; but I will endeavor to take care that you shall 
not rob mo. I throw back, then, with indignation and resents 



UNIVERSAL SUFFRAGE. 127 

ment, the charge which is made. I belong to the middling classes 
of society. I have been selected by my fellow-citizens as one of 
their representatives ; and, by the blessing of Heaven, I vnll 
represent them. casimir perkier. 



VI. — UNIVERSAL SUFFRAGE. 

Gentlemen, one great object of the Revolution of February 
was to establish universal suffrage ; and you would now restrict, 
abridge, and mutilate it ! Have you considered well what you 
are about ? This law, which gives a share in the popular sov- 
ereignty to the down-trodden victim of social and political distinc- 
tions — to the desperate man, ready for revolt — what does it say 
to him but this, — " Vote ! No more fighting ! " Universal suf- 
frage says to all, " Ee ye tranquil ! Are ye not sovereign ? 
When you have voted, the sovereignty has spoken." The right 
of insurrection is abolished by the right of suffrage. It is the 
overthrow of violence and brute force ; the end of the material, 
and the beginning of the moral fact. And now it is proposed to 
abolish this sacred right ; and, consequently, to reinstate the 
abominable and impious right of insurrection ! 

And why, ye ministers and men of state, who govern, why do 
you attempt this aggression upon popular rights ? Why do you 
engage in this mad enterprise ? It is because the people have 
seen fit to deem worthy of their votes men whom you judge 
worthy of your insults ! It is because they have presumed to 
compare your promises with your acts. It is because they do 
not find your administration altogether sublime. It is, finally, 
because they have dared to give you their advice peaceably, 
through the ballot-box, and have not prostrated themselves at 
your feet ! And, consequently, you wax indignant and angry. 
You cry out, " Society is in danger ! We will chastise you, 
people ! We will punish you, people ! We will take you in 
hand ! " And so, like that maniac, of whom History tells, you 
beat the ocean with rods ! And so, you launch at us your poor 
little laws, so furious and so feeble ! And so, you defy the 
spirit of the age, defy the good sense of the public, defy the 
democracy, and tear your unfortunate finger-nails against the 
granite of universal suffrage ! 

You, who believe yourselves the conservative upholders of 
society, are the most dangerous of revolutionists ; — the most 
dangerous, because, in your simplicity, you make revolutions 
without seeing it, without wishing it, and without knowing it — 



128 THE TRIBUNE. 

nay, wishing all the while to do something very different. Go 
on, gentlemen ! Disfranchise, if you will, three millions of 
voters, four millions, nay, eight millions, out of nine ! Get rid 
of all these. The result will be the same. What you can not 
get rid of is your own fatal incapacity and ignorance ; your own 
antipathy toward the people, and theirs toward you ! What you 
can not get rid of is the time that marches and the hour that 
sounds ; the earth that revolves ; the onward movement of ideas ; 
the crippled pace of prejudice ; the widening gulf between you 
and the age, between you and the coming generation, between 
you and the spirit of liberty, between you and the spirit of 
philosophy ! What you can not get rid of is this palpable fact, 
that while you pass on one side, the nation passes on the other ; 
that what is for you the east, is for her the west ; and that 
while you turn your back on the future, this great people of 
France, their foreheads all bathed in light from the day-spring 
of a new humanity, turn their back on the past ! 

VICTOR HUGO. 

VII. — THE DEATH PENALTY. 

I REGRET, gentlemen, that this question of the abolition of 
capital punishment — the most important question, perhaps, of all 
before this body — comes up at a time when we are little prepared 
for its discussion. For myself, I have but few words to say on 
the subject, but they will proceed from convictions profound and 
long entertained. You have established the inviolability of the 
domicil ; we ask you to establish an inviolability higher and 
more sacred — the inviolability of human life! Gentlemen, a 
constitution, and, above all, a constitution made by France and 
for France, is necessarily an important step in civilization. If 
it is not that, it is nothing. Consider, then, this penalty of death. 
What is it but the special and eternal type of barbarism ? Where- 
ever the penalty of death is most in vogue, barbarism prevails. 
Wherever it is rare, civilization reigns. Gentlemen, these are 
indisputable facts. 

The modification of the penalty was a great forward step. The 
eighteenth century, to its honor, abolished the torture. The 
nineteenth century will abolish the death penalty ! You may 
not abolish it to-day. But, doubt not, you will abolish it to- 
morrow ; or else your successors will abolish it. You have 
inscribed at the head of the preamble of your constitution the 
words, " In presence op God ; " and would you begin by depriv- 



REASONS OF STATE. 129 

ing that God of the right which to Him only belongs — the right 
of life and death ? 

Grentlemen, there are three things which are God's, not man's : 
the irrev'ocable, the irrep'arable, the indis'soluble. Woe to man 
if he introduces them into his laws ! Sooner or later they will 
force society to give way under their weight ; they derange the 
equilibrium essential to the security of laws and of morals ; they 
take from human justice its proportions; and then it happens, — 
think of it, gentlemen ! — it happens that the law revolts the 
conscience ! 

I have ascended this trib'une to say but a word, a decisive 
word, and it is this : After the Revolution of February came a 
great thought to the French people. The day after they had 
burned the Throne, they sought to burn the Scaffold ! But this 
sublime idea they were prevented from carrying into execution. 
In the first article of this constitution you have consecrated the 
people's first thought ; you have cast dcncn the Throne ! Now 
consecrate its second thought, and cast down the Scaffold ! I 
vote for the entire abolition of the penalty of death. 

VICTOR HUGO {Sqit, 15, 1848). 



VIIL— REASONS OF STATE. 

Under the modest title of a law of deportation^ the measure 
before us, gentlemen, would, in fact, restore the penalty of death 
for political offenses — a penalty which, to their lasting glory, 
the people of France abolished in the revolution of February. 
To banish a man to Madagascar, or to the Marquesas, what is it 
but to reestablish the penalty of death ? The climate contributes 
its malignity, exile its crushing dejection, the dungeon its despair. 
In the place of one executioner, there are three. Ah ! it is 
something worse than the scaffold ! It is death without a last 
look at the sky of one's country ! 

Gentlemen, you will reject this law ; you will confirm that 
grand principle, the abolition of the death penalty for political 
offenses, — a principle which emanated from the large, generous 
heart of the people, in their moment of triumph and of power. 
You will not give the lie to that which was even something 
more than a cry of the popular conscience — to that which was 
the cry of the human conscience. - \ 

Conscience. Ah ! I know there are certain profound states- 
men — men very wise (in their own conceit), very practical, 
very sagacious — who smile whenever this word conscience is 
mentioned in political discussions. They oppose to our word 



130 THE TRIBUNE. 

co7iscience the overpowering phrase of reasons of state. They 
tell us that we know nothing of business ; that we are destitute of 
political sense ; that we are not safe, sober, practical men ; and 
they call us — as the severest stigma they can invent — poets ! 

They affirm that what we find, or believe we find, in our con- 
science^ our faith in progress, in justice, in the amelioration of 
laws and of manners, our aspirations for liberty, for human im-=- 
provement, for national grandeur, are all very well, no doubt, in 
themselves, but lead, in the attempt to apply them practically, 
to illusions and chimeras ; and that, above and beyond all these 
considerations, we must be guided on real occasions by reasons 
of state I Reasons of state ! Ah ! a fine phrase, that ! Just 
now, amid the interruptions from opponents with v/hich I have 
been honored, I heard those sounding words — reasons of state ! 

But let us examine them — these "reasons of state." Let us 
review some of the measures to which they have given birth.Y I 
open history, and I see, along the line of the ages, all the acts of 
baseness, infamy, rascality, cowardice, cruelty, which have been 
authorized or committed under the plea of reasons of state ! 
Marat invoked these reasons, as well as Louis the Eleventh ; 
they were quoted to justify the enormities of the Revolution, as 
well as the massacres of St. Bartholomew. " Reasons of state ! " 
Those reasons erected the guillotines of Robespierre, and are 
now erecting the gibbets of Haynau. Ah ! my heart revolts at 
all this. I would have neither the policy of the guillotine, nor 
the policy of the gibbet ; neither Marat nor Haynau — nor your 
law of deportation ! And, come what may, whenever in critical 
moments an inspiration or a counsel is needed, I am of those who 
will never hesitate between that virgin, whom we call conscie?ice, 
and that polluted hag, whom yoic call reasons of state ! 

Gentlemen, there is such a thing as political reprisals. ! 
you murmur at that ! Then it is against history that you mur- 
mur. Of all the men who have had the direction of government 
or of public opinion during the last sixty years in France, there 
is not one — hear you ? — not one, who has not, sooner or later, 
been precipitated from his high place. The names which remind 
us of great triumphs remind us of great catastrophes also. He 
who was Lafayette is soon a captive at Olmutz ; he who was 
Napoleon is soon an exile at St. Hefena. Examine — consider ! 
Who recovered the throne in 1814? The exile of Hartwell ! 
Who reigned after 1830 ? The pro'script of Reichenau, — to-day 
the banished monarch of Claremont ! Who governs at this mo- 
ment ? The prisoner of Ham ! Now make laws of proscription, 
now restore the death penalty for political offenses, if you will — 
if you dare • ib. 



PART SIXTH. —THE JLOOR OF PARllAME.XT. 



^' 



I._ON CONSTITUTIONAL RESISTANCE. 

January 22, 1770. 



I THANK Grod, my lords, for having thus long preserved me, 
inconsiderable as I am, to take a part upon this great occasion, 
and to contribute my endeavors, such as they are, to restore, to 
save, to confirm, the constitution. My lords, I need not look 
abroad for grievances. The grand capital mischief is fixed at 
home. It corrupts the very foundation of our political exist- 
ence, and preys upon the vitals of the state. The constitution 
has been grossly violated. The constitution at this moment 
STANDS violated. Until that wound is healed, until the griev- 
ance is redressed, it is in vain to recommend union to Parliament, 
in vain to promote concord among the people. If we mean 
seriously to unite the nation within itself, we must convince the 
people that their complaints are regarded, that their injuries 
shall be redressed. On that foundation, I would take the lead 
in recommending peace and harmony to them ; on any other, I 
would never wish to see them united again. 

If the breach in the constitution is effectually repaired, the 
people will of themselves return to a state of tranquillity; if not, 
MAY DISCORD PREVAIL EOR EVER ! I know to what point this 
doctrine and this language will appear directed ; but I have the 
principles of an Englishman, and I utter them without appre- 
hension or reserve. The crisis is indeed alarming : so much the 
more does it require a prudent relaxation on the part of govern- 
ment. If the king's servants will not permit a constitutional ques- 
tion to be decided on according to the forms and on the principles 
of the constitution, it must then be decided in some other man- 
ner ; and rather than it should be tamely given up, rather than 
the nation should surrender their birthright to a despotic minis- 
ter, I hope, my lords, old as I am, I shall see the question brought 
to an issue, and fairly tried between the people and government. 
My lords, this is not the language of faction. Let it be tried by 
that criterion by which alone we can distinguish what is factious 
from what is not, by the principles of the English constitution. 
I have been bred up in these principles, and I know that when 
the liberty of the subject is invaded, and all redress denied him, 
resistance is justifiable. lord Chatham. 

131 



132 THE FLOOR OF PARLIAMENT. 

n. — IN FAVOR OF COERCINa THE COLONIES. 

February 7, 1775. 

My lords, we are reduced to the alternative of adopting coercive 
measures, or at once submitting to a dismemberment of the empire. 
Consider the question in ever so many Hghts, every middle way 
will speedily lead you to either of these extremities. The 
supremacy of the British legislature must be complete, entire, 
and unconditional ; or, on the other hand, the colonies must be 
free and independent. 

The claim of non-taxatvyn is a renunciation of your author- 
ity. If the doctrine be just, it extends to the right of separating 
from you, and establishing a new republic. It is to the last 
degree monstrous and absurd to allow that the colonists are enti- 
tled to legislate for themselves on one subject, and not on all. If 
they have any such privilege, the defense of it would justify 
resistance ; and I have not yet heard any noble lord say that 
their resistance would not be rebellion. 

I admit the impolicy of the taxes imposed in 1767, which 
have been the cause of the troubles and confusion which we now 
deplore. They irritated the colonists, cramped our own com- 
merce, and encouraged smuggling for the benefit of our commer- 
cial rivals. But the course was to petition for their repeal, and 
not to treat them as illegal. Concession now is an abdication of 
sovereignty. All classes will feel severely the effects of war, 
and no one can answer for its events. The British forces may 
be defeated ; the Americans may ultimately triumph. But are 
you prepared to surrender without striking a blow ? 

The question being whether the right of the mother-country 
shall be resolutely asserted or basely relinquished, I trust there 
can be no doubt that your lordships are prepared firmly to dis- 
charge your duty, convinced that the proper season for clemency 
is when your efforts have been crowned with victory. 

LOUD MANSFIELD. 



IIL — ON TAXING AMERICA. 

My lords, you have no right to tax America. I have searched 
the matter ; — I repeat it, you have no right to tax America. 

The natural rights of man and the immutable laws of nature 
are all with that people. Much stress is laid upon the supreme 
legislative authority of Great Britain, and so far as the doctrine 
is directed to its proper object I accede to it. But it is equally 
true, according to all approved writers upon government, that no 



THE MEASURES AGAINST AMERICA. 133 

man, agreeably to the principles of natural or civil liberty, can 
be divested of any part of his property without his consent. 
' But some gentlemen tell us, seriously, that administration must 
reduce the Americans to obedience and submission ; that is, you 
must make them absolute and infamous slaves, and then — what ? 
— we will, say they, give them full liberty. Ay, is this the nature 
of man ? No, my lords ; I would not trust myself, American as 
I am, in this situation. I do not think I should, in that case, 
be myself for giving them their liberty. No ; if they submitted 
to such unjust, such cruel, such degrading slavery, I should think 
they were made for slaves, that servility was suited to their nature 
and genius. I should think they would best serve this country 
as our slaves — that their servility would be for the benefit of 
Grreat Britain ; and I should be for keeping such Cappadocians^- 
in a state of servitude, such as was suited to their constitution, 
and such as might redound much to our advantage. 

My lords, some noble lords talk much of resistance to acts of 
Parliament. King, lords, and commons, are fine-sounding nam.es ; 
but, my lords, acts of Parliament have been resisted in all ages. 
King, lords, and commons, m.ay become tyrants as well as others. 
Tyranny in one or more is the same : it is as lawful to resist the 
tyranny of many as of one. Somebody once asked the great 
Mr. Selden in what law-book, in what records, or archives t of 
state, you might find the law for resisting tyranny. " I don't 
Imow," said Mr. Selden, " whether it is worth your while to look 
deeply into the books upon this matter ; but I '11 tell you what 
is most certain, that it has always been the 'custom of England,' 
and the ' custom of England' is the law of the land." 

I end, my lords, as I began : you have no right to tax Amer- 
ica; — the natural rights of man, and the immutable laws of nature, 
are ail with that people. lord camden (Jan. 20, 1775). 



lY. — THE MEASURES AGAINST AMERICA. 

SiK, what foundation have we for our claims over America ? 
Y^^hat is our right to persist in such cruel and vindictive meas- 
ures against that loyal, respectable people ? They say you have 
no right to tax them without their consent. They say truly. 
Bepresentation and taxation must go together ; they are insepar- 
able. Yet there is scarcely a man in our streets, though so poor 
as scarcely to be able to get his daily bread, but thinks he is the 

* The people of Cappadocia, in Asia Minor, petitioned the Romans to send 
them a king. | Pronounced a/kives. 

12 



134 THE FLOOR OF PARLIAMENT. 

legislator of America ! In the last Parliament, all was anger — 
all was rage. Si'ne clade victoria^ was the cry ! The Amer- 
icans were abused, misrepresented, and traduced, in the most atro- 
cious manner, in order to give a color to, and urge on the most 
precipitate, unjust, cruel, and vindictive measures that ever dis- 
graced a nation. But how have this respectable people behaved 
under all their grievances? With unexampled patience, with 
unparalleled wisdom ! 

I know, sir, that no one will avow that he advised, or that he 
was the author of these measures ; every one shrinks from the 
charge. But somebody has advised his majesty to these meas- 
ures ; and if his majesty continues to hear such evil counselors, 
his majesty will be undone. He may, indeed, wear his crown, 
but, the American jewel out of it, it will not be worth the wear- 
ing. What more shall I say? I must not say the king is 
betrayed ; but this I will say, the kingdom is ruined ! 

Bepeal, therefore, my lords! But bare repeal will not be 
enough. It will not satisfy this enlightened and spirited people. 
What ! repeal a bit of paper ! repeal a piece of parchment ! 
That alone will not do, my lords. You must go through the 
work ; you must declare you have no right to tax. Then they 
may trust you. Then they will have some confidence in you. 
You must repeal their fears and resentments, and then you may 
hope for their love and gratitude. 

There is no time to be lost. Every moment is big with dan- 
gers. While I am speaking, the decisive blow may be struck, 
and millions involved in the consequence. The very first drop 
of blood will make a wound which years, perhaps ages, may not 
heal. It will be an immedicab' i-le mdnus ; a rancorous, malig- 
nant, corroding, incurable wound ! 

Sir, I would not encourage America to proceed beyond the 
true line. I reprobate all acts of violence. But when her 
inherent constitutional rights are invaded, then I own myself an 
American ; and, feeling myself such, shall, to the verge of my 
life, vindicate those rights against all men who strive to trample 
on or oppose them ! lord Chatham (1775). 



v.— AGAINST TAXING AMERICA. 

You have an act of Parliament stating that it is expedient 
to raise a revenue in America. Sir, leave America, if she has 
taxable matter in her, to tax herself. Be content to bind the 
Americans by laws of trade ; you have always done that. Let 



ON THE AMERICAN WAR. 135 

this be your reason now for binding tkeir trade. Do not bur- 
then them by taxes; you were not used to do so from the 
beginning. Let this be your reason for not taxing. These are 
the arguments of states and kingdoms. Leave the rest to the 
schools ; for there only they may be discussed with safety. 

But if, intemperately, unwisely, fatally, you sophisticate and 
poison the very source of government, by urging subtle deduc- 
tions, and consequences odious to those who govern, from the 
unlimited and illimitable nature of supreme sovereignty, you will 
teach them by these means to call that sovereignty itself in ques- 
tion. When you drive him hard, the boar will surely turn u]3on 
the hunters. If that sovereignty and their freedom can not be 
reconciled, which will they take ? They will cast your sov- 
ereignty in your face. No body will be argued into slavery. 

Sir, let the gentlemen on the other side call forth all their 
ability ; let the best of them get up, and tell me, what one char- 
acter of liberty the Americans have, and what one brand of slavery 
they are free from, if they are bound in their property and indus- 
try by all the restraints you can imagine on commerce, and at 
the same time are made pack-horses of every tax you choose to 
impose, without the least share in granting them. When they 
bear the burdens of unlimited monopoly, will you bring them to 
bear the burdens of unlimited revenue too ? The Englishman in 
America will feel that this is slavery; — that it is legal slavery, 
will be no compensation either to his feelings or his under- 
standing ! BURKE. 



YI._ON THE AMERICAN ^YAR, DEC. 11th, 1777. 

• My lords, I contend that we have not procured, nor can we 
procure, any force sufficient to subdue America ; it is monstrous 
to think of it. Ministers have been in error ; experience has 
proved it ; and, what is worse, in that error they persist. They 
told you in the beginning that fifteen thousand men would traverse 
America, with scarcely the appearance of interruption. Two 
campaigns have passed since they gave us this assurance ; treble 
that number has been employed ; and one of your armies, which 
composed two thirds of the force by which America was to be 
subdued, has been totally destroyed, and is now led captive 
through those provinces you call rebellious. 

Those men whom you called cowards, poltroons, runaways, and 
knaves, are become victorious over your veteran troops ; and, in 
the midst of victory and the flush of conquest, have set ministers 
an example of moderation and magnanimity. 



136 THE FLOOR OF PARLIAMENT. 

My lords, no time should be lost which may promise to improve 
this disposition in America, unless, by an obstinacy founded in 
madness, we wish to stifle those embers of affection which, after 
all our savage treatment, do not seem as yet to be entirely extin- 
guished. While, on one side, we must lament the unhappy fate 
of that spirited officer Mr. Burgoyne, and the gallant troops 
under his command, who Y^ere sacrificed to the wanton temerity 
and ignorance of ministers, we are as strongly impelled, on the 
other, to admire and applaud the generous and magnanimous 
conduct, — ^,the noble friendship, brotherly affection, and human- 
ity, of the victors, who, condescending to impute the horrid orders 
of massacre and devastation to their true authors, supposed that, 
as soldiers and Englishmen, those cruel excesses could not have 
originated with the general, nor were consonant to the brave and 
humane spirit of a British soldier, if not compelled to it as an 
act of duty. They traced the first cause of those diabolical 
orders to their source ; and, by that wise and generous interpre- 
tation, granted their professed destroyers terms of capitulation, 
which they could be only entitled to as the makers of fair and 
honorable v/ar. 

My lords, I should not have presumed to trouble you, if the 
tremendous state of this nation did not, in my opinion, make it 
necessary. Whether or not the day of retribution is at hand, 
when the vengeance of a much-injured and afflicted people will 
fall heavily on the authors of their ruin, I am strongly inclined 
to believe, that before the day to which the proposed adjournment 
shall arrive, the noble earl who moved it will have just cause to 
repent of his motion. lord Chatham. 



VIL — RIGHT OF AMERICAN TAXATION. 

The colonies complain that they have not the characteristic 
mark and seal of British freedom. They complain that they are 
taxed in a Parliament in which they are not represented. Sir, 
I am resolved this day to have nothing to do with the question 
of the right of taxation. I do not examine whether the giving 
away a man's money be a power excepted and reserved out of 
the general trust of government ; or whether, on the contrary, a 
right of taxation is necessarily involved in the general principle 
of legislation, and inseparable from the ordinary supreme power. 
These are deep questions, where great names militate against 
each other ; where reason is perplexed, and an appeal to author- 
ities only thickens the confusion. For high and reverend authori- 
ties lift up their heads on both sides ; and there is no sure footing 



ENGLISH LIBERTY IN AMERICA. 137 

in the middle. This point is the " great Serbonian bog, betwixt 
Damiata and Mount Casius old, where armies whole have sunk." 
I do not intend to be overwhelmed in that bog, though in such 
respectable company. 

The question with me is, not whether you have a rijht to 
render your people miserable, but whether it is not your interest 
to make them happy. It is not what a lawyer tells me I Tiiay 
do, but what humanity, reason, and justice, tell me I ought to do. 
Is a politic act the worse for being a generous one ? Is no con- 
cession proper, but that which is made from your want of right 
to keep what you grant ? Or does it lessen the grace or dignity 
of relaxing in the exercise of an odious claim, because you have 
your evidence-room full of titles, and your magazines stuffed with 
arms to enforce them ? What signify all those titles, and all 
those arms ? Of what avail are they, when the reason of the 
thing tells me that the assertion of my title is the loss of my 
suit, and that I could do nothing but wound myself by the use 
of my own weapons ? 

I am not determining a point of law ; I am restoring tran- 
quillity. And the general character and situation of a people 
must determine what sort of government is fitted for them. That 
point nothing else can or ought to determine. My idea, there- 
fore, without considering whether we yield as m^atter of right, or 
grant as matter of favor, is to admit the people of our American 
colonies into an interest in the constitution ; and, by recording 
that admission in the journals of Parliament, to give them as 
strong an assurance as the nature of the thing will admit, that 
we mean for ever to adhere to that solemn declaration of 
systematic indulgence. burke. 



Vm. — ENGLISH LIBERTY IN AMERICA. 

America, gentlemen say, is a noble object ; it is an object 
well worth fighting for. Certainly it is, if fighting a people be 
the best way of gaining them. But, sir, in the character of the 
Americans a love of freedom is the predominating feature which 
marks and distinguishes the whole ; and, as an ardent is always 
a jealous affection, your colonies become suspicious, restive, and 
untractable, whenever they see the least attempt to wrest from 
them by force, or shuffle from them by chicane, what they think 
the only advantage worth living for. This fierce spirit of liberty 
is stronger in the English colonists, probably, than in any other 
people of the earth ; and this from a great variety of powerful 
causes. 

12^ 



138 THE FLOOR OF PARLIAMENT. 

First, the people of the colonies are descendants of Englishmen. 
England, sir, is a nation which still, I hope, respects, and formerly 
adored her freedom. The colonists emigrated from you when 
this part of your character was most predominant ; and they 
took this bias and direction the moment they parted from your 
hands. They are, therefore, not only devoted to liberty, but to 
liberty according to English ideas, and on English principles. 
Abstract liberty, like other mere abstractions, is not to be found. 
Liberty inheres in some sensible object ; and you know, sir, that 
the great contests for freedom in this country were, from the 
earliest times, chiefly upon the question of taxing ; maintaining 
that the people must in effect possess the power of granting their 
own money, or no shadow of liberty could subsist. 

The American colonists draw from you, as with their life- 
blood, these ideas and principles. Their love of liberty, as with 
you, fixed on this specific point of taxing. Liberty might be 
safe, or might be endangered, in twenty other particulars, with- 
out their being much pleased or alarmed. Here they felt its 
pulse ; and as they found that beat, they thought themselves sick 
or sound. 

The temper and character vfhich prevail in our colonies are, I 
am afraid, unalterable by any human art. We can not, I fear, 
falsify the pedigree of this fierce people, and persuade them that 
they are not sprung from a nation in whose veins the blood of 
freedom circulates. The language in which they would hear you 
tell them this tale would detect the imposition ; your speech 
would betray you. An Englishman is the unfittest person on 
earth to argue another Englishman into slavery. ib. 



IX. —THE LABORING POOR. 

The gentleman has spoken of '' the laboring poor." Sir, the 
laboring people are poor only because they are numerous. Num- 
bers, in their nature, imply poverty. In a fixir distribution 
among a vast multitude, none can have much. That class called 
the rich is so extremely small, that if all' their throats were cut, 
and a distribution made of all that they consume in a year, it 
would not give a bit of bread and cheese for one night's supper 
to those who labor. 

The vigorous and laborious class have lately got from the hon 
ton of the humanity of this day this name of the " laboring poor." 
We have heard many plans for the relief of the " laboring poor." 
This puling jargon is not as innocent as it is foolish. Li meddling 



THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION. 189 

with great aifairs, weakness is ever innoxious. Hitherto the 
name of poor, in the sense in which it is used to excite compas- 
sion, has not been used for those who can^ but for those who can 
not labor ; for the sick and infirm, for orphan infancy, for hm- 
guishing and decrepit age. But when we affect to pity as poor 
those who must labor, or the world can not exist, we are triflinfr 
with the condition of mankind. 

Sir, it is the common doom of man, that he must eat his bread 
by the sweat of his brow, that is, by the sweat of his body, or 
the sweat of his mind. If this toil was inflicted as a curse, it 
is, — as might be expected from the Father of all blessings, — 
it is tempered with many alleviations, many comforts. Every 
attempt to fly from it, and to refuse the very terms of our exist- 
ence, becomes much more truly a curse ; and heavier pains and 
j)enalties fall upon those who would elude the tasks which are 
put upon them by the great Master of the world. 

Sir, I do not call a healthy young man, cheerful in mind, and 
vigorous in his arms, — I can not call such a man "poor. I can 
not pity my kind, as a kind, merely because they are men. This 
affected pity only tends to dissatisfy them with their condition, 
and to teach them to seek resources where no resources are to 
be found, — in something else than their own industry, frugality, 
and sobriety. IB. 



X.— THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION. 

You will remember, gentlemen, that in the beginning of the 
American war (that era of calamity, disgrace, and downfall — 
an era which no feeling mind will ever mention without a tear 
for England) you were greatly divided. A very strong body, if 
not the strongest, opposed itself to the madness which every art 
and every power were employed to render popular. This oppo- 
sition continued till after our great but most unfortunate victory 
on Lono: Island.^ Then all the mounds and banks of our con- 
stancy were borne down at once, and the frenzy of the American 
war broke in upon us like a deluge. This victory, which seemed 
to put an immediate end to all difficulties, perfected us in that 
spirit of domination which our unparalleled prosperity had but 
too long nurtured. Our headlong desires became our politics 
and our morals. All men who wished for peace, or retained any 
sentiments of moderation, were overborne or silenced. But time 

* In August, 17T6, the British followed up their success by the occupation 
of New York. 



140 THE FLOOR OF PARLIAMENT. 

at length has made us all of one opinion ; and we have all opened 
our eyes on the true nature of the American war — of all its 
successes and all its failures. 

Do you remember our commission ? We sent out a solemn 
embassy across the Atlantic Ocean, to lay the Crown, the Peer- 
age, the Commons of Grreat Britain, at the feet of the American 
Congress. My Lord Carlisle, once the mover of a haughty ad- 
dress against America, was put in the front of this Embassy of 
Submission. Mr, Eden was taken from the office of Lord Suffolk, 
to whom he was then Under-Secretary of State ; from the office 
of that Lord Suffolk who, but a few weeks before, in his place in 
Parliament, did not deign to inquire where " a congress of va- 
grants " was to be found. This Lord Suffolk sent Mr. Eden to 
find these " vagrants," without knowing where his majesty's 
generals were to be found, who were joined in the same commis- 
sion of supplicating those whom they were sent out to subdue. 

They enter the capital of America only to abandon it ; and 
these assertors and representatives of the dignity of England, at 
the tail of a flying army, let fly their Parthian shafts of memo- 
rials and remonstrances at random behind them. Their promises 
and their offers, their flatteries and their menaces, were all 
despised ; and we were saved the disgrace of their formal recep- 
tion, only because the American Congress scorned to receive 
them ; whilst the state-house of independent Philadelphia opened 
her doors to the public entry of the ambassador of France. From 
war and blood we went to submission, and from submission 
plunged back again to war and blood, to desolate and be deso- 
lated, without measure, hope, or end ! I am a royalist — I 
blushed for this degradation of the Crown. I am a Whig — I 
blushed for the dishonor of Parliament. I am a true English- 
m.an — I felt to the quick for the disgrace of England. I am a 
Lian — I felt for the melancholy reverse of human affairs in the 
fall of the first power in the world, ib. 



XL — ON THE EXPULSION OF WILKES, 1763. 

My lokds, let us be cautious how we admit an idea that our 
rights stand on a footing different from those of the people. Let 
us be cautious how we invade the liberties of our fellow-subjects, 
however mean, however remote ; for, be assured, my lords, that 
in whatever part of the empire you suffer slavery to be estab- 
lished, whether it be in America or in Ireland, or here at home, 
you will find it a disease which spreads by contact, and soon 
reaches from the extremities to the heart. The man who has lost 



ON THE CATHOLIC QUESTION. 141 

his owii freedom becomes, from that moment, an instrument in 
the hands of an ambitious prince, to destroy the freedom of others. 
These reflections, my lords, are but too applicable to our pres- 
ent situation. The liberty of the subject is invaded, not only in 
provinces, but here at home. The English people are loud in 
their complaints; they proclaim, with one voice, the injuries 
they have received ; they demand redress ; and, depend upon it, 
ray lords, that one way or other they will have redress. They 
will never return to a state of tranquillity until they are redressed. 
Nor ought they : for, in my judgment, my lords, — and I speak 
it boldly, — it were better for them to perish in a glorious con- 
tention for their rights, than to purchase a slavish tranquillity at 
the expense of a single iota of the constitution. Let me entreat 
your lordships, then, in the name of all the duties you owe to 
your sovereign, to your country, and to yourselves, to perform 
that office to which you are called by the constitution, by inform- 
ing his majesty truly of the condition of his subjects, and of the 
real cause of their dissatisfaction. lord Chatham. 



XII. — ON THE CATHOLIC QUESTION. 

Sir, whenever one sect degrades another on acoount of reli- 
gion, such degradation is the tyranny of a sect. TVhen you enact 
that, on account of his religion, no Catholic shall sit in Parlia- 
ment, you do what amounts to the tyranny of a sect. When you 
enact that no Catholic shall be a sheriff, you do what amounts to 
the tyranny of a sect. When you enact that no Catholic shall 
be a general, you do what amounts to the tyranny of a sect. 

For the benefit of eleven hundred, to disqualify four or five 
millions, is the insolent effort of bigotry, not the benignant pre- 
cept of Christianity ; and all this, not for the preservation of 
their property, for that was secured ; but for intolerance, for 
avarice, for a vile, abominable, illegitimate and atrocious usurpa- 
tion. The laws of God cry out against it ; the spirit of Chris- 
tianity cries out against it ; the laws of England, and the spirit 
and princi23les of its constitution, cry out against such a system. 
Whenever you attempt to establish your government, or your 
property, or your church, on religious restrictions, you establish 
them on a false foundation, and you oppose the Almighty ; and, 
though you had a host of miters on your side, you banish God 
from your ecclesiastical constitution, and freedom from your 
political. 

I know the strength of the cause I support ; it will walk the 



142 THE FLOOR OF PARLIAMENT. 

earth and flourisli when dull declamation shall be silent, and the 
pert sophistry that opposed it shall be forgotten in the grave. 

Sir, I appeal to the hospitals which are thronged with the Irish 
who have been disabled in your cause ; and to the fields of Spain 
and Portugal, yet drenched with their blood ; and I turn from 
that policy which disgraces your empire, to the spirit of civil 
freedom that formed it. That is the charm by which your kings 
have been appointed, and in whose thunder you ride the waters 
of the deep. I invoke these principles, and I call upon you to 
guard your empire in this perilous moment, — to guard it from 
religious strife, and from that death-doing policy which would 
teach one part to cut the throats of the other, in a metaphysical, 
ecclesiastical, unintelligible warfare. I call upon you to guard 
your empire from such a calamity, and to rescue four millions of 
your fellow-subjects from a senseless, shameless, diabolic oppres- 
sion. HENRY GRATTAN. 



XIIL— THE VOCATION OF THE SCHOOLMASTER. 

Sir, there is nothing which the adversaries of improvement 
are more wont to make themselves merry with, than what is 
termed the " march of intellect ; " and here I will confess that I 
think, as far as the phrase goes, they are in the right. It is a 
very absurd, because a very incorrect expression. It is little 
calculated to describe the operation in question. It does not pic- 
ture an image at all resembling the proceeding of the true friends 
of mankind. It much more resembles the progress of the enemy 
to all improvement. The conqueror moves in a march. He 
stalks onward with the " pride, pomp, and circumstance of war ; " 
banners flying, shouts rending the air, guns thundering, and 
martial music pealing, to drown the shrieks of the wounded, and 
the lamentations for the slain. 

Not thus the schoolmaster in his peaceful vocation. He medi- 
tates and purposes in secret the plans which are to bless man- 
kind ; he slowly gathers round him those who are to further their 
execution; he quietly, though firmly, advances in his humble 
path, laboring steadily, but calmly, till he has opened to the light 
all the recesses of ignorance, and torn up by the roots all the 
weeds of vice. His is a progress not to be compared with any 
thing like a march ; but it leads to a far more brilliant triumph, 
and to laurels more imperishable than the destroyer of his spe- 
cies, the scourge of the world, ever won. 

Such men — men deserving the glorious title of Teachers of 
Mankind — I have found, laboring conscientiously, though, per- 



ON AVAR WITH FRANCE OR AMERICA. 143 

haps, obscurely, in their blessed vocation, wherever I have gone. 
I have found them, and shared their fellowship, among the dar- 
ing, the ambitious, the ardent, the indomitably active French ; 
I have found them among the persevering, resolute, industrious 
Swiss ; I have found them among the laborious, the warm-hearted, 
the enthusiastic Germans ; I have found them among the high- 
minded but enslaved Italians ; and in our own country, God be 
thanked, their numbers every where abound, and are every day 
increasing. 

Their calling is high and holy ; their fame is the prosperity 
of nations ; their renown will fill the earth in after ages, in pro- 
portion as it sounds not far off in their own times. Each one of 
these great teachers of the world, possessing his soul in peace, 
performs his appointed course, awaits in patience the fulfillment 
of the promises, and, resting from his labors, bequeaths his 
memory to the generation whom his works have blessed, and 
sleeps under the humble but not inglorious epitaph, commemo- 
rating " one in whom mankind lost a friend, and no man got rid 
of an enemy." lord brougham. 



XIV. — ON WAR WITH FRANCE OR AMERICA. 

You have now two wars before you, of which you must choose 
one, for both you can not support. The war against America is 
against your own countrymen — you have stopped me from say- 
ing against your fellow-subjects; that against France is against 
your inveterate enemy and rival. Every blow you strike in 
America is against yourselves ; it is against all idea of reconcil- 
iation, and against your own interest, though you should be able, 
as you never will be, to force them to submit. Every stroke 
against France is of advantage to you : America must be con- 
quered in France ; France never can be conquered in America. 

The war of France is a war of interest ; it was her interest 
which first induced her to engage in it, and it is by that interest 
that she will measure its continuance. Turn your face at once 
against her; attack her wherever she is exposed ; crush her com- 
merce wherever you can ; make her feel heavy and immediate 
distress throughout the nation : the people will soon cry out to 
their government. 

The war of the Americans is a war of passion. It is of such 
a nature as to be supported by the most powerful virtues, love of 
liberty and of their country ; and, at the same time, by those 
passions in the human heart which give courage, strength, and 



144 THE FLOOR OF PARLIAMENT. 

perseverance, to man, the spirit of revenge for the injuries jou 
have done them, of retaliation for the hardships you have inflicted 
on them, and of opposition to the unjust powers you have exer- 
cised over them. Every thing combines to animate them to this 
war, and such a war is without end; for whatever obstinacy 
enthusiasm ever inspired man with you will now find in America. 
No matter what gives birth to that enthusiasm, whether the name 
of religion or of liberty, the effects are the same ; it inspires a 
spirit which is unconquerable, and solicitous to undergo difficulty, 
danger, and hardship : and as long as there is a man in America, 
a being formed such as we are, you will have him present himself 
against you in the field. ciiarles james fox (1778). 



XV. _ THE IMPOLICY OF INJUSTICE. 

The march of the human mind is slow. Sir, it was not until 
after two hundred years discovered, that, by an eternal law, 
Providence had decreed vexation to violence, and poverty to 
rapine. Tour ancestors did, however, at length open their eyes 
to the ill-husbandry of injustice. They found that the tyranny 
of a free people could of all tyrannies the least be endured ; and 
that laws made against a whole nation were not the most effect- 
ual methods for securing its obedience. Accordingly, in the 
twenty-seventh year of Henry the Eighth, the course was entirely 
altered. With a preamble stating the entire and perfect rights 
of the crown of England, it gave to the Welsh all the rights and 
privileges of English subjects. A political order was established; 
the military power gave way to the civil ; the marches were 
turned into counties. But that a nation should have a right to 
English liberties, and yet no share at all in the fundamental 
security of these liberties, the grant of their own property, 
seemed a thing so incongruous, that eight years after, that is, in 
the thirty-fifth of that reign, a complete and not ill-proportioned 
representation by counties and boroughs was bestowed upon Wales 
by act of Parliament. From that moment, as by a charm, the 
tumults subsided. Obedience was restored. Peace, order, and 
civilization, followed in the train of liberty. When the day-star 
of the English constitution had arisen in their hearts, all was 
harmony within and without : 



Simul alba nautis, 



Stella refulsit, 

De'fiuit saxis agitatus humor ; 
Con^cidunt venti, faglunt'que nu^bes, 
Et mi nax (quod sic volu-eVe) ponto 
Uuda recumbit. 



THE BANK OF ENGLAND. 145 

Are not the people of America as much Englishmen as the 
Welsh ? The preamble of the act of Henry the Eighth says, 
the Welsh speak a language no way resembling that of his maj- 
esty's English subjects. Are the Americans not as numerous? 
The people of Wales can not amount to above two hundred 
thousand — not a tenth, part of the number in the colonies. Is 
America in rebellion ? Wales was hardly ever free from it. 

My resolutions go to establish the equity and justice of a tax- 
ation of America by grants and not by imposition; to admit the 
legal competency of the colony assemblies for the support of 
their government in peace, and for public aids in time of war ; 
to acknowledge that this legal competency has had a dutiful and 
beneficial exercise ; and that experience has shown the benefit of 
their grants, and the futility of parliamentary taxation as a 
method of supply. These solid truths compose six fundamental 
propositions; six massive pillars of strength, sufficient, I think, 
to support the temple of British concord. 

BURKE {March, 1775). 



XVI. — THE BANK OF ENGLAND. 

Vi^HiLE the Bank of England continues in its present state of 
dependence on the minister, it is impossible to hope, Mr Speak- 
er, that public credit can be restored, and the funds raised. Last 
year, much was said in the newspapers about the connection 
between the right honorable gentleman and the bank. It was 
said that the banns had been forbidden. The conduct of the chan- 
cellor of the exchequer showed that he cultivated the connection 
on account of the lady's dowry, not for the comfort of her 
society. 

The advances made by the bank to government occasioned the 
first stoppage, and now three millions are again to be advanced 
without any security whatever. If the directors do not insist 
on some security for their repayment, they will be guilty of a 
gross breach of duty, and the most culpable neglect of the inter- 
est of their constituents. 

It seems that the bank is to be the new temple of Janus — 
ever shut in time of war. While war continues we must be 
contented to view the meager paper profile ; nor will we be per- 
mitted to contemplate the golden bust till the return of peace. 
The French directory are thus to have the keys of the bank, 
which can not be opened till they grant permission. 

Sir, it is mere cant and delusion to talk any longer of giving 
13 



146 THE FLOOR OF PARLIAMENT. 

up a part to preserve the whole, that we must leave both our 
liberty and property unmortgaged to posterity. If I am called 
upon to pay a shilling to preserve a pound, this is intelligible ; 
but if I am called upon twenty times successively for my shil- 
ling, it is ridiculous to tell me of giving up a part for the pres- 
ervation of the whole. This will not do ; and, as a worthy 
baronet said on another occasion, "if it is so often repeated, it 
comes to be no joke." 

Sir, this kind of paradoxical insult can not long be endured. 
It will not do to tell us that sending millions of money to Ger- 
many for the defense of this country is true economy ; that to 
lop off the most valuable of our liberties is to preserve the con- 
stitution ; that not to pay its lawful creditors is to support the 
credit of the bank ; and to introduce a general disclosure of 
income is to protect property. This is the last stage of such 
delusion. The tricks have been too often repeated to elude the 
most inattentive observation. While the affairs of this country 
continue in the same hands, they can not be administered wisely 
or well. The country can not have confidence in a system always 
unsuccessful, now hopeless ; and the dismissal of ministers must 
be the preliminary step to any vigor of system, any prospect of 
peace. Sheridan. 

XVIL— JUSTICE TO ROMAN CATHOLICS. 
On moving for a committee on the Roman Catholic claims, February 28, 1821. 

Sir, on the part of the Roman Catholics, I will be bold to 
say, that they harbor no principle of hostility to our Establish- 
ment. What have they said or done, since the period of the 
Revolution, to show that they mean to touch the Establishment? 
"Let them swear what they will," it is said, "the Catholics must 
break their oaths, and our Establishment must be endangered." 
The right honorable gentleman maintains, that he is authorized 
by his views to exclude them from this State on principles that 
V70uld make them unworthy of any State. 

Sir, I cannot find, in the large volume of human nature, any 
principle which calls upon the Roman Catholic to subvert that 
fytnto by whose laws he is protected, merely that the heads of his 
priests may be decorated with a miter ! And the right honorable 
gentleman must excuse me if I say, that he equally mistakes the 
institutions of man and the principles of human action. The 
Catholic does not indulge the chimerical notion of heaving the 
British constitution from its basis, that his priest may wear lawn 
sleeves and a miter. If, however, he is excluded from the privi- 



THE DELIVERANCE OF EUROPE. 147 

leges of the State merely on account of his religion ; if he is 
made an invidious exception in a country which permits the tal- 
ents and virtues of all other men to advance them to the highest 
honors; and if this exception extend to his posterity, — '^ nati 
natorum et qui iiascentur ah illis,^'' — he will indeed have a suffi- 
cient motive to aim at the destruction of that State which heaps 
upon him only so heavy a load of injustice. 

Sir, I would unite the Catholic by every affection and every 
good feeling of his nature, by every motive that can operate 
upon his heart and head, by every obligation that can bind his 
conscience, and every argument that can convince his understand- 
ing ; not so much by adding to his power, as by removing every 
offensive exclusion, every unworthy distinction. I do not propose 
here to strike the shackle from his limbs, for he is free ; but to 
remove the brand from his forehead, for he is stigmatized. I 
would not have him a marked man and a plotting sectary, but 
would raise him to the proudest rank that man can attain, to the 
rights and privileges of a free-born subject. Do not, I entreat 
you, as sincere friends to the Protestant establishment, do not 
reject this appeal for justice and grace. Do not drive your 
Roman Catholic brother from your bar a discontented sectary. 
Do not tell him who wishes to be a friend, that he is, and ou^yht 
to be, an enemy. w. c. plunkett. 



XVni. — THE DELIVERANCE OF EUROPE. 

That we have objects, great and momentous objects, in our 
view, there is no man that must not feel. I can have no diffi- 
culty in declaring that the most complete and desirable termina- 
tion of the contest would be the deliverance of Europe. I am 
told, indeed, that there are persons who affect not to understand 
this phrase ; who think there is something confused, something 
involved, something of a studied ambiguity and concealment, in 
it. I can not undertake to answer for other gentlemen's powers 
of comprehension. The map of Europe is before them. I can 
only say that I do not admire that man's intellect, and I do not 
envy that man's feelings, who can look over that map without 
gathering some notion of what is meant by the deliverance of 
Europe. I do not envy that man's feelings who can behold the 
sufferings of Switzerland, and who derives from that sight no idea 
of what is meant by the deliverance of Europe. I do not envy 
the feelings of that man who can look without emotion at Italy, 
— plundered, insulted, trampled upon, exhausted, covered with 
ridicule, and horror, and devastation, — who can look at all this, 



148 THE FLOOR OF PARLIAMENT. 

and be at a loss to guess what is meant by the deliverance of 
Europe ! As little do I envy the feelings of that man who can 
view the people of the Netherlands driven into insurrection, and 
struggling for their freedom against the heavy hand of a merci- 
less tyranny, without entertaining any suspicion of what may be 
the sense of the word deliverance ! 

Does such a man contemplate Holland groaning under arbi- 
trary oppressions and exactions ? Does he turn his eyes to Spain 
trembling at the nod of a foreign master ? And does the word 
deliverance still sound unintelligibly in his ear ? Has he heard 
of the rescue and salvation of Naples by the appearance and the 
triumphs of the British fleet ? Does he know that the monarchy 
of Naples maintains its existence at the sword's point ? And is 
his understanding and is his heart still impenetrable to the sense 
and meaning of the deliverance of Europe ? 

Sir, that we shall succeed in effecting this general deliverance, 
I do not pretend to affirm. That in no possible case we should 
lay down our arms and conclude a peace before it is fully effected, 
I do not mean to argue. But that this is the object which we 
ought to have in view, even if we look to our own safety only, 
— that of this we ought to accomplish as much as our means, our 
exertions, our opportunities, will allow, — I do most anxiously 
contend. If circumstances should unhappily arise to make the 
attainment of the object hopeless, it will be time enough when 
they do arise to give up the hopes of attaining it. But do not 
let us run before misfortune ; do not let us presume disappoint- 
ment, and anticipate the necessity of disgrace. 

GEORGE CANNING. 



XIX.— THE VOTE BY BALLOT. 

Sir, it is said that the morals of the people would be affected 
by clandestine voting. We are told that it would conduce to the 
propagation of the most pernicious habits ; that falsehood and 
dissimulation would be its natural results; men would make 
promises which they had no intention of keeping, and suspicion 
and mistrust would arise where confidence and reliance now hap- 
pily prevail. Sir, I am persuaded that promises spontaneously 
made, flowing from a free and unbiased volition, would be 
observed under the ballot as faithfully as they now are ; and, 
with regard to promises purchased from corruption or wrung 
from fear, they belong to that class of engagements of whose 
inchoate^ depravity the profligate performance is the infamous 
consummation. 

* Pronounced in'ko'Ote. 



THE IRISH DISTURBANCE BILL. 149 

I am well aware that, generally speaking, citations from the 
writers of antiquity are little applicable to our system of govern- 
ment and our code of morality. The opinions of men wlio lived 
two thousand years ago have little weight ; but there is a pas- 
sage with reference to the morality of the ballot, in a speech of 
the great Athenian, which I have never seen quoted, so forcible 
and so true that I shall be excused for advertino* to it : 

o 

" If," says Demosthenes, in his speech on the False Embassy, 
addressing an assembly of five hundred judges who were to vote 
by ballot, " if there be any man here sufficiently unfortunate to 
have been betrayed into a corrupt engagement to vote against his 
conscience and his country, let him bear in mind that to the fulfill- 
ment of that promise he is not bound ; that those with whom he 
has entered into that profligate undertaking will have no cogni- 
zance of its performance, but that there is a divinity above us 
who will take cognizance of his thoughts, and know whether he 
shall have falfilled that duty to his country which is paramount 
to every other obligation. Your vote is secret. You have noth- 
ing to apprehend ; for safety is secured to you by the wisest 
regulation which your lawgivers ever yet laid down." 

To all times and to all countries the principle thus powerfully 
expressed is appropriate. A dishonorable contract is void, and 
to the discharge of a great trust impunity should be secured. 
The franchise, you often tell us, is a trust granted ; but for 
whom ? If for the proprietor of the soil, if for the benefit of 
the landlord, if it is in him indeed that the beneficial interest is 
vested, by all means let the vote be public, and let the real owner 
of the vote have the fullest opportunity of knowing with what 
fidelity the offices of servitude have been performed ; but if the 
franchise is a trust for the benefit of the community, and if the 
publicity of its exercise conduces to its violation, then, in the 
name of common consistency, do not insist upon our adherence 
to that system of voting by which the object you have, or ought 
to have, most of all at heart, is so manifestly countei^acted. 

SHIEL. 



XX. —THE IRISH DISTURBANCE BILL. 

I DO not rise to fawn or cringe to this house ; I do not rise to 
supplicate you to be merciful towards the nation to which I belong 
— towards a nation which, though subject to England, yet is dis- 
tinct from it. It is a distinct nation. It has been treated as 
such by this country, as may be proved by history, and by seven 
hundred years of tyrannv. I call upon this house, as you value 
13'^ 



150 THE FLOOR OF PARLIAMENT. 

the liberty of England, not to allow the present nefarious bill to 
pass. In it are involved the liberties of England, the liberty of 
the press, and of every other institution dear to Englishmen. 

Against the bill I protest in the name of the Irish people, and 
in the face of heaven. I treat with scorn the puny and pitiful 
assertions that grievances are not to be complained of, that our 
redress is not to be agitated ; for, in such cases, remonstrances 
can not be too strong, agitation can not be too violent, to shovf to 
the world with what injustice our fair claims are met, and under 
what tyranny the people suffer. 

There are two frightful clauses in this bill. The one which 
does away with trial by jury, and which I have called upon you 
to baptize. You call it a court-martial — a mere nickname ; I 
stigmatize it as a revolutionary tribunal. What, in the name of 
heaven, is it, if it is not a revolutionary tribunal ? It annihilates 
the trial by jury ; it drives the judge from his bench, — the man 
who, from experience, could weigh the nice and delicate points 
of a case ; who could discriminate between the straightforward 
testimony and the suborned evidence ; who could see, plainly 
and readily, the justice or injustice of the accusation. It turns 
out this man, who is free, unshackled, unprejudiced, who has no 
previous opinions to control the clear exercise of his duty. You 
do away with that which is more sacred than the throne itself; 
— that for which your king reigns, your lords deliberate, your 
commons assemble. 

If ever I doubted before of the success of our agitation for 
repeal, this bill, this infamous bill, the way in which it has been 
received by the house, the manner in which its opponents have 
been treated, the personalities to which they have been subjected, 
the yells with which one of them has this night been greeted, — 
all these things dissipate m.y doubts, and tell me of its complete 
and early triumph. Do you think those yells will be forgotten ? 
Do you suppose their echo will not reach the plains of my injured 
and insulted country? — that they will not be whispered in her 
green valleys, and heard from her lofty hills ? 0, they will be 
heard there ; yes, and they will not be forgotten ! The youth of 
Ireland will bound with indignation; they will say, "We are 
eight millions ; and you treat us thus, as though we were no more 
to your country than the isle of Guernsey or of Jersey ! " 

I have done my duty. I stand acquitted to my conscience 
and my country. I have opposed this measure throughout ; and 
I now protest against it as harsh, oppressive, uncalled for, unjust; 
as establishing an infamous precedent by retaliating crime against 
crime ; as tyrannous, cruelly and vindictively tyrannous. 

DANIEL O'CONNELL. 



THE LICENSE OF OPPOSITION, 151 

XXL — THE LICENSE OF OPPOSITION. 

Gentlemen, all power is, or ought to be, accompanied by 
responsibility. Tyranny is irresponsible power. This definition 
is equally true, whether the power be lodged in one or many ; — 
whether in a despot, exempted by the form of government from 
the control of the law; or in a mob, whose numbers put them 
beyond the reach of law. Idle, therefore, and absurd, to talk 
of freedom where a mob domineers ! Idle, therefore, and absurd, 
to talk of liberty, when you hold your property, perhaps your 
life, not indeed at the nod of a despot, but at the will of an 
inflamed, an infuriated populace ! 

I trust there are few, very few, reasonable and enlightened 
men ready to lend themselves to projects of confusion. But I 
confess I very much wish that all who are not ready to do so 
would consider the ill effect of any countenance given, publicly 
or by apparent implication, to those whom, in their hearts and 
judgments, they despise. I remember that most excellent and 
able man, Mr. Wilberforce, once saying, in the House of Com- 
mons, that he " never believed an opposition really to wish mis- 
chief to the country; that they only wished just so much mischief 
as might drive their opponents out, and place themselves in their 
room." 

Now, gentlemen, I can not help thinking that there are some 
persons tampering with the question of reform something in 
the same spirit. They do not go so far as the reformers ; they 
even state irreconcilable differences of opinion ; but to a certain 
extent they agree, and even cooperate with them. They coop- 
erate with them in inflaming the public feeling, not only against 
the government, but against the support given by Parliament to 
that government, in the hope, no doubt, of attracting to them- 
selves the popularity which is lost to their opponents, and thus 
being enabled to correct and retrieve the errors of a displaced 
administration. 

Vain and hopeless task, to raise such a spirit and then to 
govern it ! They may stimulate the steeds into fury, till the 
chariot is hurried to the brink of a precipice, but do they flatter 
themselves that they can then leap in, and, hurling the incompe- 
tent driver from his seat, check the reins just in time to turn 
from the precipice, and avoid the fall ? I fear they would attempt 
it in vain. The impulse, once given, may be too impetuous to 
be controlled ; and, intending only to change the guidance of the 
machine, they may hurry it and themselves to irretrievable 
destruction. geouge canning. 



152 THE FLOOR OF PARLIAMENT. 

XXIL — IRISH " ALIENS. ' ' 
In reply to Lord Lyndhurst (1837), who had stigmatized the Irish as aliens. 

There is a man of great abilities — not a member of this 
house, but whose talents and boldness have placed him in the 
topmost place in his party — who has been heard to speak of the 
Irish as " aliens.^*' Disdaining all imposture, and abandoning all 
reserve, he distinctly and audaciously tells the Irish people that 
they are not entitled to the same privileges as Englishmen ; 
that they are ''6zZie7Z5." Aliens? Good heavens ! Was Arthur, 
Duke of Wellington, in the House of Lords, and did he not start 
up and exclaim, "'Hold ! I have seen the aliens do their dutyV* 
The " battles, sieges, fortunes that he has passed," ought to have 
come back upon him. He ought to have remembered that, from 
the earliest achievement in which he displayed that military genius 
which has placed him foremost in the annals of modern warfare, 
down to that last and surpassing combat, which has made his 
name imperishable, — from Assaye to Waterloo, — the Irish sol- 
diers, with whom your armies are filled, were the inseparable 
auxiliaries to the glory with which his unparalleled successes 
have been crowned. 

Whose were the arms that drove your bayonets at Vimiera 
through the phalanxes that never reeled in the shock of war 
before ? What desperate valor climbed the steeps and filled the 
moats of Badajos?^ All, all his victories should have rushed 
and crowded back upon his memory ; Yimiera, Badajos, Sala- 
manca, Albue'ra, Toulouse ; and, last of all, the greatest — 

Tell me, for you were there, — I appeal to the gallant soldier 
before me (Sir Henry Hardinge), who bears, I know, a generous 
heart in an intrepid breast ; — tell me, for you must needs remem- 
ber, — on that day, when the destinies of mankind were trembling 
in the balance, while death fell in showers ; when the artillery of 
France, leveled with the precision of the most deadly science, 
played upon them ; when her legions, incited by the voice, inspired 
by the example, of their mighty leader, rushed again and again to 
the onset, - — tell me if, for an instant, when to hesitate for an 
instant was to be lost, the '' aliens " blenched ! And when, at 
lenof'th, the moment for the last decisive movement had arrived ; 
when the valor, so long wisely checked, was at last let loose ; 
when with words familiar, but immortal, the great captain com- 
manded the great assault, — tell me if Catholic Ireland with 
less heroic valor than the natives of your own glorious isle pre- 
cipitated herself upon the foe ! The blood of England, Scotland, 

* Pronounced Bad'a-hos. 



JUSTICE TO EAST INDIANS. 153 

Ireland, flowed in the same stream, drenched the same field. 
When the chill morning dawned, their dead lay cold and stark 
together ; in the same deep pit their bodies were deposited ; the 
green corn of spring is now breaking from their commingled dust ; 
the dew falls from heaven upon their miion in the grave ! Par- 
takers in every peril, in the glory shall we not be permitted to 
participate ? — and shall we be told, as a requital, that we are 
estranged from the noble country for whose salvation our life- 
blood was poured out ? SHIEL. 



XXni.— THE LOVE OF POPULARITY. 

The honorable gentleman who opened the debate on the other 
side of the house, on the first day of this lengthened discussion, 
was pleased to ask me, in terms of great civility and kindness, 
whether I do not love popularity. Sir, I am not insensible to 
the good opinion of honorable men, such as he who put to me 
this question. I am not insensible to the good will of an en- 
lightened community. The man who disregards it is not worthy 
to hold a high official station in a country which boasts a popular 
constitution. 

I have encountered too many of the vicissitudes of public life, 
not to know how to meet censures which I am conscious I do not 
deserve. On the other hand, I desire to retain popularity ; but 
I would hold it honorably, or not at all. " Laudo maiientem ; " 
or, to use the more beautiful paraphrase of Dryden : 

" I can applaud her, — when she 's kind ; 
But when she dances in the wind, 
And shakes her wings, and will not stay, — 
I puff the runagate away. ' ' 

Yes, sir, I love, I covet, I enjoy popularity ; but I will not 
court it by the surrender of my conscientious judgment, or by the 
sacrifice of my settled opinions. canning. 



XXW.— JUSTICE TO EAST INDIANS. 

Sir, are we to keep the people of India ignorant in order that 
we may keep them submissive ? Or do we think we can give 
them knowledge without awakening ambition ? Or do we mean 
to awaken ambition and to provide it with no legitimate vent ? 
Who will answer any of these questions in the affirmative ? Yet 
one of them must be answered in the affirmative by every person 
who maintains that we ought permanently to exclude the natives 



154 THE FLOOR OF PARLIAMENT. 

of India from high office. I have no fears. The path of duty 
is plain before us : and it is also the path of wisdom, of national 
prosperity, of national honor. 

Sir, what is that power worth which is founded on vice, on 
ignorance, and on misery ? — which we can only hold by violating 
the most sacred duties which, as governors, we owe to the gov- 
erned? — which, as a people blessed with far more than an ordi- 
nary measure of political liberty and of intellectual light, we owe 
to a race debased by three thousand years of despotism and 
priestcraft ? Ah ! sir, we are free, we are civilized, to little 
purpose, if we grudge to any portion of the human race an equal 
measure of freedom and civilization ! 

Sir, it may be that by good government we may educate our 
subjects of India into a capacity for better government ; it may 
be that, having become instructed in European knowledge, they 
may, in some future age, demand European institutions. Whether 
such a day will ever come I know not. But never vf ill I attempt 
to avert or retard it. Whenever it comes, it will be the proudest 
day in English history. To have found a great people sunk in 
the lowest depths of slavery and superstition, to have so ruled 
them as to have made them desirous and capable of all the priv- 
ileges of citizens, would, indeed, be a title to glory all our own. 

The scepter may pass away from us. Unforeseen accidents 
may derange our most profound schemes of policy. Victory 
may be inconstant to our arms. But there are triumphs 
which are followed by no reverses. There is an em.pire exempt 
from all natural causes of decay. These triumphs are the pacific 
triumphs of reason over barbarism ; that empire is the imperish- 
able empire of our arts and our morals, our literature and our 

laws ! MACAULAY (1833). 



XXV. — THE JEWS' DISABILITIES BILL. 

The question before us is. Shall Jews be admitted to the priv- 
ilege of sitting in Parliament ? That they wish to have access to 
this privilege has already been shown ; it now remains to show 
that some harm is calculated to result from that admission. 
Unless this is shown, the refusal is neither more nor less than 
'persecution. 

My honorable friend put a different interpretation on this 
word persecution ; but when we come to define the sense, it 
must be found that we are only quibbling about a word. With 
some persons, perhaps, burning would be persecution, while the 
screwing of thumbs would not be persecution ; others may call 



THE jews' disabilities BILL. 155 

the screwing of thumbs persecution, and deny the justice of that 
expression applied to whipping. But, according to my impres- 
sion, the infliction of any penalties on account of religious opin- 
ions, and on account of religious opinions alone, comes within 
the meaning of the term persecution. It is as much persecution in 
principle as an auto da fe ; the only difference is in degree. No 
argument can be adduced in favor of the mildest degree of this 
injustice, which, logically speaking, though not morally, indeed, 
might not be used with equal force in favor of the most cruel 
inflictions from similar motives. 

If it was to be full and entire persecution, after the example 
of our ancestors, I could understand it. If we were called on to 
revert to the days when, as a people, the Jews were pillaged, 
their warehouses torn down, their every right sacrificed, the 
thing would be comprehensible. But this is a delicate persecu- 
tion, with no abstract rule for its guidance. All that the house 
has been told is, that the Jews are not Christians, and that, 
therefore, they must not have power. But this has not been 
declared openly and ingenuously, as it once was. 

Formerly, the persecution of the Jews was, at least, consistent. 
The thing was once made complete by taking away their property, 
their liberty, and their lives. My honorable friend is now equally 
vehement as to taking away their political power ; and yet, no 
doubt, he would shudder at what such a principle might really 
take away. The only power that my honorable friend seems to 
wish to deprive the Jews of is to consist in maces, gold chains, 
and skins of parchment with pieces of wax dangling at the end 
of them. But he is leaving them all the things that bestow real 
power. He allows them to have property, and in these times 
property is power, mighty and overwhelming power ; he allows 
them to have knowledge, and knowledge is no less power. 

Then why is all this power poisoned by intolerance ? Why is 
the Jew to have the power of a principal over his clerk, of a 
master over his servant, of a landlord over his tenant — why 
is he to have all this which is power, and yet to be deprived of 
the fair and natural consequences of this power ? A Jew may 
be the richest man in England ; he may possess the whole of 
London ; his interest may be the means of raising this party or 
depressing that ; his influence may be of the first consequence 
in a war which shall shake all Europe to its center ; his power 
may assist or retard the greatest plans of the greatest prince ; 
he may make members of Parliament ; and yet, with all this, 
confessed, acknowledged, undenied, he is not to have the power 
of sitting in Parliament himself ! IB. 



156 THE FLOOR OF PARLIAMENT. 

XXVL — THE AMERICANS NOT REBELLIOUS. 

On the Address to the King, February 2, 1775. 

Sir, tlie noble lord has endeavored, by every light into which 
he can throw the question, to prove that the resistance of the 
Americans, though it has gone no further than votes and resolu- 
tions, is actual and open rebellion. I think, sir, that there is no 
difficulty in proving the direct contrary position. Against what 
is it that the Americans rebel ? Do they deny allegiance to his 
majesty ? Are they in arms in opposing the king's troops ? By 
what explanation or by what misconception their conduct is now 
to be branded with so violent and so fatal an epithet, I can not 
apprehend. 

You passed acts, at the last session, which overturned all legal 
semblance of a constitution in one of their provinces ; and you 
utterly ruined"^ the capital of the empire in that part of the world, 
by way of punishing the insolence of a mob. You executed those 
acts by force of arms. The people of the colonies, thinking 
themselves tyrannically used, convened a General Congress. The 
deputies met in that Congress, and came to resolutions full of 
duty and allegiance to the king, and respect towards Parliament. 

And we, the Parliament of Great Britain, are now to overlook 
the conduct of the Congress, and search for proofs of rebellion 
among the American mobs and the colony newspapers I And 
these last have been actually laid before us as state papers! 
Yet, in the action of these mobs, and in the expressions of these 
newspapers, is not rebellion to be found. It must be by the most 
sophistical of all arguments that such a deduction is to be drawn, 
A people governed by a constitution subordinate to our own, pro- 
fessing loyalty and obedience to the king, and using no violence 
against his troops, nor being any where in arms, can not, but by 
the utmost perversion of sense and expression, be denominated 
rebels. 

I insist that America is not in a state of rebellion. I insist 
that every appearance of riot, disorder, tumult, and sedition, 
which the noble lord has so faithfully recounted from newspapers, 
arises not from disobedience, treason, or rebellion, but is created 
by the conduct of those who would establish a despotism in the 
land ; ay, sir, of those whose views are manifestly directed to 
the reduction of America to the most abject state of servility, as 
a preFude to the realizing the same atrocious system in the 
mother country. Joseph dunning. 

* Parliament shut up the port of Boston, March, 1774. 



PART SEVENTH. — THE FLOOR OP CONGRESS. 



I. — ON THE BRITISH TREATY, 1796. 

The treaty is bad, fatally bad, is the cry. It sacrifices the 
interest, the honor, the independence, of the United States, and 
the faith of our engagements to France. If we listen to the 
clamor of party intemperance, the evils are of a number not to 
be counted, and of a nature not to be borne, even in idea. The 
language of passion and exaggeration may silence that of sober 
reason in other places. It has not done it here. The question 
here is, whether the treaty be really so very fatal as to oblige the 
nation to break its faith. 

This, sir, is a cause that would be dishonored and betrayed if 
I contented myself with appealing only to the understanding. 
That faculty is too cold, and its processes are too slow, for the 
occasion. I desire to thank God that, since he has given me an 
intellect so fallible, he has impressed upon me an instinct that is 
sure. On a question of shame and honor, reasoning is sometimes 
useless, and worse. I fisel the decision in my pulse ; if it throws 
no light upon the brain, it kindles a fire at the heart. 

It is not easy to deny, it is impossible to doubt, that a treaty 
imposes an obligation on the American nation. It would be 
childish to consider the President and Senate obliged, and the 
nation and House free. What is the obligation ? Perfect or 
imperfect ? If perfect, the debate is brought to a conclusion. 
If imperfect, how large a part of our faith is pawned ? Is half 
our honor put at risk, and is that half too cheap to be redeemed ? 
How long has this hair-splitting subdivision of good faith been 
discovered, and why has it escaped the researches of the wi'iters 
on the law of nations ? Shall we add a new chapter to that law, 
or insert this doctrine as a supplement to, or, more properly, a 
repeal of, the ten commandments ? 

The consequences of refusing to make provision for the treaty 
are not all to be foreseen. By rejecting it, vast interests are 
committed to the sport of the winds ; chance becomes the arbiter 
of events, and it is forbidden to human foresight to count their 
number, or measure their extent. Before we resolve to leap into 
this abyss, so dark and so profound, it becomes us to pause and 
reflect upon such of the dangers as are obvious and inevitable. 
If this assembly should be wrought into a temper to defv these 
14 137 



158 THE FLOOR OF CONGRESS. 

consequences, it is vain, it is deceptive, to pretend that we can 
escape them. It is worse than weakness to say that as to public 
faith our vote has already settled the question : another tribunal 
than our own is already erected. The public opinion, not merely 
of our own country, but of the enlightened world, will pronounce 
a judgment that we can not resist, that we dare not even affect 
to despise. fisher ames. 

II. _ WAR WITH GREAT BRITAIN, 1812. 

If we are not fully prepared for war, let the sublime fact be 
soon exhibited, that a free and valiant nation, with our numbers, 
and a just cause, is always a powerful nation — is always ready 
to defend its essential rights ! In the Congress of 1774, among 
other arguments used to prevent a war, and discourage separa- 
tion from Great Britain, the danger of having our towns battered 
down and burnt was zealously urged. The venerable Christo- 
pher Gadsden, of South Carolina, rose and replied to it in these 
memorable words: " Our seaport towns, Mr. President, are com- 
posed of brick and wood. If they are destroyed, we have clay 
and timber enough in our country to rebuild them. But, if the 
liberties of our country are destroyed, where shall we find the 
mpvterials to replace them?" 

During the siege of Boston, General Washington consulted 
Congress upon the propriety of bombarding the town. Mr. Han- 
cock was then President of Congress. After General Washing- 
ton's letter was read, a solemn silence ensued. This was broken 
by a member making a motion that the house should resolve itself 
into a committee of the whole, in order that Mr. Hancock might 
give his opinion upon the important subject, as he was so deeply 
interested from having all his estate in Boston. A fter he left the 
chair, he addressed the chairman of the committee of the whole 
in the following words : " It is true, sir, nearly all the property 
I have in the world is in houses and other real estate in the town 
of Boston; but, if the expulsion of the British army from it, and 
the liberties of our country, require their being burnt to ashes, 
issice the order for that purpose immediately y 

What inspiring lessons of duty do examples like these incul- 
cate ! War, fellow-citizens, is not the greatest of evils. Sub- 
mission to injustice is worse. Loss of honor is worse. A peace 
purchased by mean and inglorious sacrifices is worse. I am no 
apologist of war. It should be the last resort of nations. It 
brings tremendous evils in its train. It foments some of the 
worst passions of our nature, even as it sometimes develops the 



THE LABORING CLASSES. 159 

most heroic virtues. But an ignoble peace is more demoralizing 
than a sanguinary war. It is an incubus on a nation's character, 
in the oppression of which every true patriot must share ; till he 
could almost exclaim, with disgraced Cassio, " ! I have lost 
my reputation. I have lost the immortal part of myself, and 
what remains is bestial. My reputation, lago, my reputation ! " 

BIl#WN. 



IIL — NATIONAL OBLIGATIONS. 

I DIFFER, Mr. Chairman, from the honorable gentleman from 
Massachusetts, who denies that sympathy ought to be felt for the 
children of deceased officers, who may be in want. Those chil- 
dren have not served us, it is true ; but their fathers who did are 
beyond the reach of our gratitude, and the transfer of the feel- 
ing is natural and just. Public benefits bestowed on the children 
of the deceased father encourages him who is alive in the dis- 
charge of his duty, by the purest of all motives — paternal affec- 
tion ; and that legislation must be unwise, indeed, that fails to 
enlist, in support of the State, all the best impulses of humanity. 

Let that republic get on as it can, where the veteran, blind, 
maimed, and poor, like Belisarius, is forced to apply to public 
charity for support ! Let that republic get on as it can, where 
contracts are broken, and public beneficence refused; where 
nothing is given but what is in the bond — and that is frequently 
refused ! Let that republic get on as it can ! It will never 
produce any thing great ; its career will be short and inglorious ; 
its fall certain and unpitied ; its history remembered as a warn- 
ing, not as an example ; and the names of its legislators and 
statesmen buried in the oblivion to which their false economy 
tends to consign the memory of those who have established its 
freedom, or defended it from aggression. May our republic 
show, by its decision on this bill, that it has a higher destiny, 
and that it is guarded as well by liberality and honor, as by 

justice ! EDWARD LIVINGSTON {Jan, 15, 1827). 



lY. _THE LABORING CLASSES. 

Sir, it is an insult to our laboring classes to compare them 
with the debased poor of Europe. Why, sir, we of this country 
do not know what poverty is. "We have no poor in this country, 
in the sense in which that word is used abroad. Every laborer, 
even the most humble, in the United States, soon becomes a capi- 



160 THE FLOOR OF CONGRESS. 

talist, and even, if he choose, a proprietor of land; for the TYest, 
with all its boundless fertility, is open to him. 

How can any one dare to compare the mechanics of this land 
(whose inferiority, in any substantial particular, in intelligence, 
in virtue, in wealth, to the other classes of our society, I have yet 
to learn) with that race of outcasts, of which so terrific a picture 
is presftited by recent writers — the poor of Europe? — a race 
among no inconsiderable portion of whom famine and pestilence 
may be said to dwell continually ; many of whom are without 
morals, without education, without a country, without a God ! 
and may be said to know society only by the terrors of its penal 
code, and to live in perpetual war with it. Poor bondmen ! 
mocked with the name of liberty, that they may be sometimes 
tempted to break their chains, in order that, after a few days of 
starvation in idleness and dissipation, they may be driven back 
to their prison-house to take their shackles up again, heavier and 
more galling than before; severed, as it has been touchingly 
expressed, from nature, from the common air, and the light of 
the sun ; knowing only by hearsay that the fields are green, that 
the birds sing, and that there is a per fume in fiowers ! 

And is it with a race whom the perverse institutions of Europe 
have thus degraded beneath the condition of humanity that the 
advocates, the patrons, the protectors, of our working-men, pre- 
sume to compare them ? Sir, it is to treat them with a scorn at 
which their spirit should revolt, and does revolt. 

HUGH S. LEUAKE. 



V._ON THE EMBARGO. 

The gentleman from North Carolina exclaimed, the other day, 
in a strain of patriotic ardor, " What ! shall not our laws be 
executed ? Shall their authority be defied ? I am for enforcing 
them, at every hazard." I honor that gentleman's zeal, and I 
mean no deviation from that true respect I entertain for him, 
when I tell him that in this instance ^' his zeal is not according 
to knowledge." 

I ask this house, is there no control to its authority, is there 
no limit to the power of this national legislature ? I hope I 
shall offend no man, when I intimate that two limits exist — ^ 
nature and the constitution. Should this house undertake to 
declare that this atmosphere should no longer surround us, that 
water should cease to flow, that gravity should not hereafter 
operate, that the needle should not vibrate to the pole, — sir, I 
hope I shall not offend — I think I may venture to affirm that, 



NATIONAL GLORY. IGl 

such a law to the contrary notwithstanding, the air would con- 
tinue to circulate; the Mississippi, the Hudson, and the Potomac, 
would roll their floods to the ocean ; heavy bodies continue to 
descend, and the mysterious magnet hold on its course to its 
celestial cyn'osure. 

Just as utterly absurd and contrary to nature is it to attempt 
to prohibit the people of New England, for any considerable 
length of time, from the ocean. Commerce is not only associated 
with all the feelings, the habits, the interests and relations, of 
that people, but the nature of our soil and of our coasts, the 
state of our population and its mode of distribution over our 
territory, render it indispensable. We have five hundred miles 
of 3ea-coast, all furnished with harbors, bays, creeks, rivers, 
inlets, basins, with every variety of invitation to the sea, with 
every species of facility to violate such laws as these. Our peo- 
ple are not scattered over an immense surface, at a solemn dis- 
tance from each other, in lordly retirement, in the midst of 
extended plantations and intervening wastes ; they are collected 
on the margin of the ocean, by the sides of rivers, at the heads 
of bays, looking into the water, or on the surface of it, for the 
incitement and the reward of their industry. 

Among a people thus situated, thus educated, thus numerous, 
laws prohibiting them from the exercise of their natural rights 
will have a binding effect not one moment longer than the pub- 
lic sentiment supports them. Gentlemen talk of twelve revenue 
cutters additional, to enforce the embargo laws. Multiply the 
number by twelve, multiply it by a hundred, join all your ships 
of war, all your gun-boats, and all your militia, — in despite of 
them all, such laws as these are of no avail, when they become 
odious to public sentiment. josiah QUINCY (Nov. 28, 1808). 



VL— NATIONAL GLORY. 

We are asked what have we gained by the war ? I have 
shown that we have lost nothing in rights, territory, or honor; 
nothing for which we ought to have contended, according to the 
principles of the gentlemen on the other side, or according to 
our own. Have we gained nothing by the war ? Let any man 
look at the degraded condition of this country before the war, 
the scorn of the universe, the contempt of ourselves, and tell me 
if we have gained nothing by the war. 

Is there a man who would not desire a participation in the 
national glory acquired? Yes, national glory, which, however 
the expression may be condemned by some, must be cherished 
14^ 



162 THE FLOOR OF CONGRESS. 

by every genuine patriot. What do I mean by national glory? 
Glory such as Hull, Jackson, and Perry, have acquired. And are 
gentlemen insensible to their deeds — to the value of them in ani- 
mating the country in the hour of peril hereafter? Did the battle 
of Thermop'ylge preserve Greece but once? Whilst the Missis- 
sippi continues to bear the tributes of the Iron Mountains and 
the Alleghanies to her Delta and to the Gulf of Mexico, the 8th . 
of January shall be remembered, and the glory of that day shall 
stimulate future patriots, and nerve the arms of unborn freemen 
in driving the presumptuous invader from our country's soil. 

Gentlemen may boast of their insensibility to feelings inspired 
by the contemplation of such events. But I would ask, does the 
recollection of Bunker's Hill, Saratoga, and Yorktown, afford them 
no pleasure ? Every act of noble sacrifice to the country, every 
instance of patriotic devotion to her cause, has its beneficial 
influence. A nation's character is the sum of its splendid deeds; 
they constitute one common patrimony, the nation's inheritance. 
They awe foreign powers, they arouse and animate our own 
people. 

Do gentlemen derive no pleasure from the recent transactions 
in the Mediterranean ? Can they regard unmoved the honorable 
issue of a war in support of our national rights, declared, prose- 
cuted, and terminated by a treaty, in which the enemy submitted 
to a carte hlanche^ in the short period of forty days? The days 
of chivalry are not gone. They have been revived in the person 
of Commodore Decatur, who, in releasing from infidel bondage 
Christian captives, the subjects of a foreign power, and restoring 
them to their country and friends, has placed himself beside the 
most renowned knights of former times. I love true glory. It 
is this sentiment which ought to be cherished; and, in spite of 
cavils, and sneers, and attempts to put it down, it will finally 
conduct this nation to that height to which God and nature have 
destined it. clay. 



VII. — IN FAVOR OF FREE TRADE. 

Sir, next to the Christian religion, I consider free trade in its 
largest sense as the greatest blessing that can be conferred upon 
any people. Hear, sir, what Patrick Henry, the great orator of 
Virginia, whose soul was the very temple of freedom, says on this 
subject : 

i' Why should we fetter commerce? If a man is in chains, he 

* Pronounced kart hlansh — the a in hlansh having its sound as in father, and 
the V. having a slightly nasal sound. 



EUROPEAN EXAMPLES . 163 

droops and bows to tlio earth, because his spirits are broken ; but 
let him tivist the fetters from his legs^ and he will stand erect. 
Fetter not commerce ! Let her be as free as the air. She will 
range the whole creation, and return on the four winds of heaven 
to bless the land with plenty/* 

But it has been said that free trade would do very well if all 
nations would adopt it ; but, as it is, every nation must protect 
itself from the effect of restrictions by countervailing measures. 
I am persuaded, sir, that this is a great, a most fatal error. 
If retaliation is resorted to for the honest purpose of producing 
a redi'ess of the grievance, while adhered to no longer than 
there is a hope of success, it may, like war itself, be sometimes 
just and necessary. But if it have no such object, " it is the 
unprofitable combat of seeing which can do the other the most 
harm." 

The case can hardly be conceived in which permanent restric- 
tions, as a measure of retaliation, could be profitable. In every 
possible situation, a trade, whether more or less restricted, is 
profitable, or it is not. This can only be decided by experience ; 
and if the trade be left to re^^ulate itself, water would not more 
naturally seek its level, than the intercourse adjust itself to the 
true interest of the parties. 

Sir, as to this idea of the regulation by government of the 
pursuits of men, I consider it as a remnant of barbarism, dis- 
gracefiil to an enlightened age, and inconsistent with the first 
principles of rational liberty. I hold government to be utterly 
incapable, from its position, of exercising such a power wisely, 
prudently, or justly. Are the rulers of the world the deposita- 
ries of its collected wisdom ? Sir, can we forget the advice of a 
great statesman to his son: "G-o, see the world, my son, that 
you may learn with how little wisdom mankind is governed.'' 

And is our own government an exception to this rule ? Or do 
we not find here, as every w^here else, that 

"Man. proud man. 

Dressed in a little brief authority, 
■ Plays such fantastic tricks before high Heaven, 

As make the angels weep." 

HAYNE. 

VIII. — EUROPEAN EXAMPLES. 
A continuation of the preceding speech. 

The gentleman has appealed to the example of other nations, 
on the subject of free trade. Sir, they are all against him. 
They have had restrictions enough, to be sure, but they are get- 



164 . THE FLOOR OF CONGRESS. 

ting heartily sick of them, and in England, particularly, would 
willingly get rid of them if they could. We have been assured, 
by the declaration of a minister of the crown, from his place in 
Parliament, " that there is a growing conviction, among all men 
of sense and reflection in that country, that the true policy of all 
nations is to be found in unrestricted industry.'' Sir, in England 
they are now retracing their steps, and endeavoring to relieve 
themselves of the system as fast as they can. Within a few 
years past, upwards of three hundred statutes, imposing restric- 
tions in that country, have been repealed. 

Sir, the experience of France is equally decisive. Bonaparte's 
effort to introduce cotton and sugar has cost that country mil- 
lions ; and, but the other day, a foolish attempt to protect the 
iron mines spread devastation through half of France, and nearly 
ruined the wine-trade, on which one fifth of her citizens depend 
for subsistence. As to Spain, unhappy Spain, fenced round with 
restrictions, her experience one would suppose would convince 
us, if any thing could, that the protecting system in politics, like 
bigotry in religion, is utterly at war with sound principles and a 
liberal and enlightened policy. 

Sir, I say, in the words of the philosophical statesman of 
England, " leave a generous nation free to seek their own road to 
perfection." Thank Grod, the night is passing away, and we 
have lived to see the dawn of a glorious day. The cause of free 
trade must and will prosper, and finally triumph. The political 
economist is abroad ; light has come into the world ; and, in this 
instance, at least, men will not " prefer darkness rather than 
light." 

Sir, let it not be said, in after times, that the statesmen of 
America were behind the age in which they lived ; that they 
initiated this young and vigorous country into the enervating 
and corrupting practices of European nations ; and that, at the 
moment when the whole world were looking to us for an exam- 
ple, we arrayed ourselves in the cast-off follies and exploded 
errors of the Old World, and, by the introduction of a vile system 
of artificial stimulants and political gambling, impaired the 
healthful vigor of ih.Q body politic, and brought on decrepitude 
jind premature dissolution. " IB. 



IX. — SMUGGLING CAUSED BY HIGH DUTIES. 

The gentleman complains of frauds upon the revenue, and 
fraudulent invoices, and smuggling ; but it is his system which 
has produced these evils. Smuggling, from the very nature of 



SMUGGLING CAUSED BY HIGH DUTIES. 165 

things, must exist, when the duties exceed the risk and expense 
of the illicit intercourse. For a season, sir, the high moral sense 
of a young and uncorrupted people may oppose some obstacle to 
these practices. Xo government on earth can prevent them. 
Napoleon, in the plenitude of his power, was unable to maintain 
his continental system. His prohibitions and restrictions were 
constantly violated with impunity. Yes, sir, he who sported with 
kingdoms, who constructed thrones upon the ruins of empires, 
and appointed the officers of his household to fill them ; whose 
armies were his custom-house officers, who drew his cordons 
around the nations which he conquered, was utterly unable to put 
down the great principles of free trade. It has been well said, 
sir, " that when all Europe was obedient to his nod, the smuggler 
disputed his commands, set at naught his edicts, laughed to scorn 
his power, and overthrew his policy." 

How is it with England, that sea-girt isle, surrounded with a 
thousand ships, and thirty thousand guardians of her revenue ? 
Sir, do we not all know that smuggling is there a profitable trade, 
and that the revenue laws of England are constantly violated 
with impunity ? 

And how is it in Spain? A modern traveler asserts that 
there are a hundred thousand persons in that unhappy country 
who live by smuggling, and that there are thirty thousand others 
paid by the government to detect their practice, but who are in a 
league with the offenders ; and, as to the condition of things in 
our own country, the gentleman has told us a tale this day, 
which, if he be not himself deceived, shows what fearful progress 
these practices have already made. 

The time was when smuggling was absolutely unknown any 
where in this country, as it still is in the Southern States. It is 
your protecting system which has introduced it. It is the natural 
consequence of high duties. The evil was foretold ; and, as we 
predicted, it has come upon us. The protecting system has 
already, in the minds of many, removed the odium which formerly 
rested on this practice. It was but the last year that a distin- 
guished senator rose up in his place here and held this language : 
" Your tariff policy compels respectable men to violate your 
law; you force them to disregard its injunctions, in order to 
elude its oppressions." It was his perfect conviction that there 
was not a virtuous man throuofhout the Union who would now 
think it criminal to smuggle into the country every article con- 
sumed in it. And why ? Because you force them to it in self- 
defense. 

Sir, when these sentiments shall become prevalent, what think 



166 THE FLOOR OF CONGRESS. 

you will become of that system ? How long will it last, after 
the payment of duties shall come to be considered as a badge of 
servitude ? ib. 



X._ON INTERNAL IMPROVEMENTS. 

House of Representatives, Jan., 1819. 

On this subject of national power, what can be more important 
than a perfect unity in every part, in feelings and sentiments ? 
And what can tend more powerfully to produce it, than overcom- 
ing the effects of distance? No country, enjoying freedom, ever 
occupied any thing like as great an extent of country as this 
republic. One hundred years ago, the most profound philoso- 
phers did not believe it to be even possible. They did not sup- 
pose it possible that a pure republic could exist on as great a 
scale, even, as the island of Great Britain. What then was con- 
sidered as chimerical, we have now the felicity to enjoy: and, 
what is most remarkable, such is the happy mould of our govern- 
ment, so we]] are the state and general powers blended, that much 
of our political happiness draws its origin from the extent of our 
republic. It has exempted us from most of the causes which 
distracted the small republics of antiquity. 

Let it not, however, be forgotten, let it be forever kept in 
mind, that it exposes us to the greatest of all calamities, — next 
to the loss of liberty, and even to that in its consequences, — dis- 
union. We are great, and rapidly, I was about to say fearfully, 
growing. This is our pride and our danger, our weakness and 
our strength. Little does he deserve to be intrusted with the 
liberties of this people, who does not raise his mind to these 
truths. We are under the most imperious obligation to counter- 
act every tendency to disunion. 

The strongest of all cem'ents is, undoubtedly, the wisdom, jus- 
tice, and, above all, the moderation of this house ; yet the great 
subject on which we are now deliberating, in this respect, 
deserves the most serious consideration. Whatever impedes the 
intercourse of the extremes with this, the center of the republic, 
weakens the Union. The more enlarged the sphere of commer- 
cial circulation, the more extended that of social intercourse — the 
more strongly we are bound together, the more inseparable are 
our destinies. 

Those who understand the human heart best know how power- 
fully distance tends to break the sympathies of our nature. 
Nothing, not even dissimilarity of language, tends more to 
estrange man from man. Let us, then, bind the republic together 



EFFECT OF OUR NAVAL VICTORIES. 16T 

with a perfect system of roads and canals ! Let us conquer space ! 
It is thus the most distant part of the republic will be brought 
within a few days' travel of the center ; it is thus that a citizen 
of the West will read the news of Boston still moist from the 

press. J. C. CALHOUN. 



XL— EFFECT OF OUR NAVAL VICTORIES. 

This country is left alone to support the rights of neutrals. 
Perilous is the condition, and arduous the task. We are not 
intimidated. We stand opposed to British usurpation, and by 
our spirit and efforts have done all in our power to save the last 
vestiges of neutral rights. Yes, our embargoes, non-intercourse, 
non-importation, and, finally, war, are all manly exertions to pre- 
serve the rights of this and other nations from the deadly grasp 
of British maritime policy. 

But, say our opponents, these efforts are lost, and our condition 
hopeless. If so, it only remains for us to assume the garb of 
our condition. We must submit, humbly submit, crave pardon, 
and hug our chains. It is not wise to provoke where we can not 
resist. 

But first let us be well assured of the hopelessness of our state 
before we sink into submission. On what do our opponents rest 
their despondent and slavish belief? On the recent events in 
Europe ? I admit they are great, and well calculated to impose 
on the imagination. Our enemy never presented a more impos- 
ing exterior. His fortmie is at the flood. Bat I am admonished 
by universal experience that such prosperity is the most precari- 
ous of human conditions. From the flood the tide dates its ebb. 
From the meridian the sun commences his decline. Depend upon 
it, there is more of sound philosophy than of fiction in the fickle- 
ness which poets attribute to fortune. Prosperity has its weak- 
ness, adversity its strength. In many respects, our enemy has 
lost by those very changes which seem so very much in his favor. 
He can no more claim to be struggling for existence ; no more to 
be fighting the battles of the world in defence of the liberties of 
mankind. The magic cry of " French influence " is lost. In this 
very hall, we are not strangers to that sound. Here, even here, 
the cry of " French influence," that baseless fiction, that phan- 
tom of faction now banished, often resounded. I rejoice that 
the spell is broken by which it was attempted to bind the spirit 
of this youthful nation. The minority can no longer act under 
cover, but must come out and defend their opposition on its own 
intrinsic merits. 



168 THE FLOOR OF CONGRESS. 

Our example can scarcely fail to produce its effects on other 
nations interested in the main tenance of maritime rights. But 
if, unfortunately, we should be left alone to maintain the contest, 
and if — which may Heaven forbid! — necessity should compel 
us to yield for the present, yet our generous efforts will not have 
been lost. A mode of thinking and a tone of sentiment have 
gone abroad which must stimulate to future and more successful 
struggles. What could not be done with eight millions of peo- 
ple will be done with twenty. The great cause will never be 
yielded ; no, never, never ! I hear the future audibly announced 
in the past, in the splendid victories over the Guerriere,* Java, 
and Macedonian. We and all nations, by these victories, are 
taught a lesson never to be forgotten. Opinion is power. The 
charm of British naval invincibility is gone. ib. 



XIL— OUR NATIONAL CITIZENSHIP. 

Sir, proud as I am of the title of citizen of Virginia, grateful 
as I am for the unmerited favor which that honored mother has 
shown me, I yet feel, with the Father of the Country, that " the 
just pride of patriotism is exalted " by the more comprehensive 
title of citizen of the United States, — that title which gives me 
a share in the common inheritance of glory which has descended 
to us from our Revolutionary sages, patriots, and heroes ; that 
title which enables me to claim the names of the Butledo-es, the 
Pinckneys, and the Sumpters, of South Carolina, of the Hancocks, 
the Adamses, and the Otises, of Massachusetts, and all the other 
proud names which have illustrated the annals of each and all of 
these States, as " copatriot with my own." 

In reviev\^ing, Mr. President, the fundamental tenets of that 
new school of constitutional law, which has sprung up within the 
last four or j&ve eventful years of our political history, I have 
endeavored to show that they have no foundation whatever in 
any just view of the constitution, — that they are directly at 
war with the cotemporary understanding and expositions of its 
founders, and that they derive no countenance whatever from the 
principles of that genuine republican school, which reestablished 
the constitution in its purity, after the temporary perversions to 
which it had been subjected. 

These modern doctrines, I do firmly believe, are, in their 
tendency, utterly subversive of that happy system of government, 

* Pronounced Gerry air. 



AVAR UNDER THE GUISE OF PEACE. 169 

the preservation of which is not only the sole security for liberty 
with us, but the last hope of freedom throughout the world. If, 
in the depth of these convictions, I shall have fallen into a warmer 
tone of discussion than is my habit, it will be attributed, 1 trust, 
to its true cause, and not to any want of proper respect or kind 
feeling towards the members, one and all, of this body. 

Sir, we live in times when it is a solemn duty which every 
man owes his country to speak his opinions, without disguise or 
equivocation, even at the risk of giving offense to some of those 
whom it would be his greatest pleasure, as well as highest ambi- 
tion, to content in all things. I have been already admonished, 
sir, that a sword is, at this moment, suspended over my head, 
which may descend and ^ever the worthless thread of my political 
existence, for the act of public duty I am now performing. Sir, 
if it should be so, I shall have at least one consolation, the con- 
sciousness of having fallen in the defence of the constitution of 
my country, and of that liberty which is indissolubly connected 

with it. WM. C. RIVES (1833). 



Xin.— WAR UNDER THE GUISE OF PEACE. 

Sir, I have been exceedingly struck, while listening to gentle- 
men, with the fact that while the ends and objects at which they 
aim are all so pacific, their speeches are strewn and sown thick, 
broad-cast, with so much of the food and nourishment of war. 
Their ends and objects are peace — a treaty of peace ; but their 
means and their topics wear a certain incongruous grimness of 
aspect. The " bloom is on the rye ; " but, as you go near, you 
see bayonet-points sparkling beneath, and are fired upon by a 
thousand men in ambush ! The end they aim at is peace ; but 
the means of attaining it are an offensive and absui-d threat. 

I declare, sir, that while listening to senators whose sincerity 
and patriotism I can not doubt, and to this conflict of topics and 
objects with which they half-bewilder me, I v/as forcibly reminded 
of that consum'mate oration in the streets of Rome, by one who 
" came to bury Caesar, not to praise him." He did not wish to 
stir up any body to mutiny and rage ! 0, no ! He would not 
have a finger lifted against the murderers of his and the people's 
friend — not he ! He feared he wronged them. Yet who has 
not admired the exquisite address and the irresistible effect with 
which he returns again and again to " sweet Csesar's wounds, 
poor, poor dumb mouths," and puts a tongue in each, — to the 
familiar mantle, first worn on the evening of the day his great 
friend overcame the Nervii, now pierced bv the cursed steel of 
15 



170 THE FLOOR OF CONGRESS. 

Oassius, of the envious Casca, of tlic weli-beloved Brutus, — to 
his legacy of drachmas, arbors, and orchards, to the people of 
'Rome, whose friend, whose benefactor, he shows to them, all 
marred by traitors, — till the mob break away from his words of 
more than fire, with : 

" ^Ye will be reyenged ! — Revenge ' About ! 
Seek — burn — lire — lull — slay ! — let not a traitor live ! ' ' 

Antony was insincere. Senators are wholly sincere. Yet the 
contrast between their pacific professions and that revelry of 
belligerent topics and sentiments which rings and flashes in their 
speeches here, half suggests a doubt to me, sometimes, whether 
they or I perfectly know what they mean or what they desire. 
They promise to show you a garden ; and you look up to see 
nothing but a wall " with dreadful faces thronged, and fiery 
arms ! " They propose to teach you hov/ peace is to be preserved ; 
and they do it so exquisitely that you go away half inclined to 
issue letters of marque and reprisal to-morrow morning. 

The proposition is peace ; but the audience rises and goes off 
with a sort of bewildered and unpleasing sensation, that if there 
were a thousand men in all America as well disposed as the orator, 
peace might be preserved ; but that, as the case stands, it is just 
about hopeless ! I ascribe it altogether to their anxious and 
tender concern for peace, that senators have not a word to say 
about the good she does, but only about the danger she is in. 
They have the love of compassion, not the love of desire. Not a 
word about the countless blessings she scatters from her golden 
urn ; but only " the pity of it, lago ! the pity of it ! " to think 
how" soon the dissonant clangor of a thousand brazen throats may 
chase that bloom from her cheek, — 



" And Death's pale flag be quick advanced there." 

e here can say one thing and mean another ; 
cant, and nothing directly said. '' The dial s 
but pointed full upon the stroke of murder." ciioate. 



Sir, no one here can say one thing and mean another ; yet much 
*may be meant, and nothing directly said. '' The dial spoke not, 



Xiy. -- DESTINY OF THE UNITED STATES. 

One of England's own writers has said : " The possible destiny 
of the United States of America, as a nation of one hundred 
millions of freemen, stretching fi^om the Atlantic to the Pacific, 
living under the laws of Alfred, and speaking the language of 
Shakspeare and Miltcn, 13 nn august conception." Sir, it is an 



WAR CONSEQUENT ON DISSOLUTION. 171 

august conception, finely embodied ; and I trust in God that it 
will, at no distant time, become a reality. I trust that the world 
will see, through all time, our people living not only under the 
laws of Alfred, but that they will be heard to speak, throughout 
our wide-spread borders, the language of Shakspeare and Milton. 
Above all, is it my prayer that, as long as our posterity shall 
continue to inhabit these mountains and plains, and hills and 
valleys, they may be found living under the sacred institutions 
of Christianity. 

Put these things together, and what a picture do they present 
to the mental eye ! Civilization and intelligence started in the 
East ; they have traveled, and are still traveling, westward ; but 
when they shall have completed the circuit of the earth, and 
reached the extremest verge of the Pacific shores, then, unlike 
the fabled god of the ancients, who dipped his glowing axle in 
the western wave, they will take up their permanent abode ; then 
shall we enjoy the sublime destiny of returning these blessings to 
their ancient seat ; then will it be ours to give the priceless 
benefits of our free institutions, and the pure and healthful light 
of the Grospel, back to the dark family which has so long lost both 
truth and freedom ; then may Christianity plant herself there, 
and while with one hand she points to the Polynesian isles, 
rejoicing in the late-recovered treasure of revealed truth, with 
the other present the Bible to the Chinese. 

It is our duty to aid in this great work. I trust we shall 
esteem it as much our honor as our duty. Let us not, like some 
of the British missionaries, give them the Bible in one hand and 
opium in the other, but bless them only with the pure word of 
truth. I hope the day is not distant, — soon, soon may its dawn 
arise ! — to shed upon the farthest and the most benighted of 
nations the splendor of more than a tropical sun. 

H. W. HILLIARD. 



Xy. — WAE CONSEQUENT ON DISSOLUTION. 

Mr. President, I have said what I solemnly believe — that 
the dissolution of the Union and war are identical and insepara- 
ble ; that they are convertible terms. Such a war, too, as that 
would be, following the dissolution of the Union ! Sir, we may 
search the pages of history, and none so furious, so bloody, so 
implacable, so exterminating, from the wars of Greece down, 
including those of the commonwealth of England, and the revolu- 
tion of France — none, none of them raged with such violence — 
none was ever conducted with such bloodshed and enormities as 



172 THE FLOOll OF CONGRESS. 

must attend that war whicli shall follow the disastrous event — 
if that event ever happen — of dissolution. 

And what would be its termination ? Standing armies and 
navies, to an extent draining the revenues of each portion of the 
dissevered empire, would be created ; exterminating wars would 
follow, — not a war of two or three years, but of interminable 
duration, — exterminating wars would follow, until some Philip 
or Alexander, some Csesar or Napoleon, would rise to cut the 
Grordian knot, and solve the capacity of man for self-government, 
and crush the liberties of both the dissevered portions of this 
Union. Can you doubt it ? 

Look at history — consult the pages of all history, ancient or 
modern ; look at human nature ; look at the character of the 
contest in which 3^ou would be engaged in the supposition of a 
war following the dissolution of the Union, such as I have sug- 
gested, and I ask you if it is possible for you to doubt that the 
final but perhaps distant termination of the whole will be some 
despot treading down the liberties of the people ? — that the 
final result will be the extinction of this last glorious light which 
is leading all mankind, who are gazing upon it, to cherish hope 
and anxious expectation that the liberty which prevails here will 
sooner or later be advanced throughout the civilized world ? 
Can you lightly contemplate the consequences ? Can you yield 
yourself to a torrent of passion, amid dangers which I have de- 
picted in colors far short of what would be the reality, if the 
event should ever happen ? 

I con-jure' gentlemen, — whether from the South or the North, 

— by all they hold dear in the world, by all their love of liberty, 
by all their veneration for their ancestors, by all their regard 
for posterity, by all their gratitude^ to Him who has bestowed 
upon them such unnumbered blessings, by all the duties which 
they owe to mankind, and all the duties which they owe to 
themselves, — by all these considerations I implore them to pause 

— solemnly to pause — at the edge of the precipice, before the 
fearful and disastrous leap is taken in the yawning abyss below, 
which will inevitably lead to certain and irretrievable destruc- 
tion. And, finally, I implore, as the best blessing which heaven 
can bestow upon me on earth, that if the direful and sad event 
of the dissolution of the Union shall happen, I may not survive 
to behold the sad and heart-rendins: spectacle. clay. 

* The long u in such words as aratUude, duty^ student, tumult, &c., has a y 
sound, as in mute. But after r in the same syllable long u has the sound of 
long 00 in food ; as in rule, brute, rude, intrude, Slq, 



ON THE FOUCE BILL. 173 



XVL — ON THE FORCE BILL. 

For what purpose is the unlimited control of the purse and of 
the sword to be placed at the disposition of the executive ? To 
make war against one of the free and sovereign members of this 
confederation, which the bill proposes to deal with, not as a State, 
but as a collection of banditti or outlaws ; thus exhibiting the 
impious spectacle of this government, the creature of the States, 
making war against the power to which it owes its existence. 

Do I say that the bill declares war against South Carolina ? 
No ! It decrees a massacre of her citizens ! War has something 
ennobling about it, and, with all its horrors, brings into action the 
highest qualities, intellectual and moral. It was, perhaps, in the 
order of Providence, that it should be permitted for that very 
purpose. But this bill declares no war, except, indeed, it be 
that which savages wage ; a war, not against the community, but 
the citizens of whom that community is composed. Eut I regard 
it as worse than savage warfare — as an attempt to take away 
life, under the color of law, without the trial by jury, or any 
other safeguard which the constitution has thrown around the 
life of the citizen ! It authorizes the President, or even his depu- 
ties, when they may suppose the law to be violated, without the 
intervention of a court or jury, to kill without mercy or discrim- 
ination. 

It has been said, by the senator from Tennessee, to be a meas- 
ure of peace ! Yes, such peace as the wolf gives to the lamb, 
the kite to the dove ! Such peace as E^ussia gives to Poland, or 
death to its victim ! A peace by extinguishing the political 
existence of the State, by awing her into an abandonment of the 
exercise of every power which constitutes her a sovereign com- 
munity ! It is to South Carolina a question of self-preserva- 
tion ; and I proclaim it, that, should this bill pass, and an attempt 
be made to enforce it, it will be resisted at every hazard — even 
that of death itself ! 

Death is not the greatest calamity ; there are others, still more 
terrible to the free and brave, and among them may be placed the 
loss of liberty and honor. There are thousands of her brave sons 
who, if need be, are prepared cheerfully to lay down their lives 
in defense of the State, and the great principles of constitutional 
liberty for which she is contending. Grod forbid that this should 
become necessary ! It never can be, unless this governnaent is 
resolved to bring the question to extremity; when her gallant 
sons will stand prepared to perform the last duty — to die 
nobly ! calhoun. 

15# 



174 THE FLOOR OF CONGRESS. 

XVIL — THE PUBLIC LAND BILL. 

Mr. President, I rise to ask leave to introduce a bill to appro- 
priate, for a limited time, the pro'ceeds of the sales of the public 
lands of the United States, and for granting lands to certain 
States. Sir, I have ever regarded with feelings of the pro- 
foundest regret the decision which the President of the United 
States felt himself induced to make on the bill of 1833. If that 
bill had passed, about twenty millions of dollars would have 
been, during the last three years, in the hands of the several 
States, applicable by them to the beneficent purposes of internal 
improvement, education, or colonization. What immense bene- 
fits might not have been diffused throughout the land by the 
active employment of that large sum ! What new channels of 
commerce and communication might not have been opened 1 
What industry stimulated, what labor rewarded ! How many 
youthful minds might have received the blessings of education 
and knowledge, and been rescued from ignorance, vice, and ruin ! 
How many descendants of Africa might have been transported 
from a country v/^here they never can enjoy political or social 
equality, to the native land of their fathers, where no impedi- 
ment exists to their attainment of the highest degree of elevation, 
intellectual, social, and political — where they might have been 
successful instruments, in the hands of God, to spread the reli- 
gion of his Son, and to lay the foundation of civil liberty ! 

But, although wo have lost three precious years, the Secretary 
of the Treasury tells us that the principal of this vast sum is yet 
safe ; and much good may still be achieved with it. The spirit 
of improvement pervades the land in every variety of form, — 
active, vigorous, and enterprising, wanting pecuniary aid as well 
as intelligent direction. The States are strengthening the Union- 
by various lines of communication thrown across and through 
the mountains. As the general government withholds all direct 
agency from these truly national works, and from all new objects 
of internal improvement, ought it not to yield to the States, what 
is their own, the amount received from the public lands ? It 
would thus but execute faithfully a trust expressly created by 
the original deeds of cession, or resulting from the treaties of 
acquisition. With this ample resource, every desirable object of 
improvement, in every part of our extensive country, may in due 
time be accomplished. Placing this exhaustless fund in the 
hands of the several members of the confederacy, their common 
federal head may address them in the gloAving language of the 
British bard, and 



THE PERMANENCE OF .\xMERICAN LIBERTY. 175 

'* Bid harbors open, public Tvays extend. 
Bid temples worthier of our God ascend. 
Bid the broad arch the dangerous flood contain, 
The mole projecting break the roaring main. 
Back to his bounds their subject sea command. 



And roll obedient rivers through the land. 



CLAY. 



XVni.— THE PERMANENCE OF AMERICAN LIBERTY, 

The election of a chief magistrate by the mass of the people 
of an extensive community was, to the most enlightened nations 
of antiquity, a political impossibility. Destitute of the art of 
printing, they could not have introduced the representative prin- 
ciple into their political systems, even if they had understood it. 
In the very nature of things, that principle can only be coex- 
tensive with popular intelligence. In this respect, the art of 
printing, more than any invention since the creation of man, is 
destined to change and elevate the political condition of society. 
It has given a new impulse to the energies of the human mind, 
and opens new and brilliant destinies to modern republics, which 
were utterly unattainable by the ancients. 

The existence of a country population, scattered over a vast 
extent of territory, as intelligent as the population of the cities, 
is a phenomenon which was utterly and necessarily unknown to 
the free states of antiquity. All the intelligence which controlled 
the destiny and upheld the dominion of republican Kome was 
confined to the walls of the great city. Even when her domin- 
ion extended beyond Italy to the utmost known limits of the 
inhabited world, the city was the exclusive seat both of intelli- 
gence and empire. Without the art of printing, and the conse- 
quent advantages of a free press, that habitual and incessant 
action of mind upon mind, which is essential to all human im- 
provement, could no more exist among a numerous and scattered 
population, than the commerce of disconnected continents could 
traverse the ocean without the art of navigation. 

Here, then, is the source of our superiority, and our just pride 
as a nation. The statesmen of the remotest extremes of the 
Union can converse together, like the philosophers of Athens in the 
same portico, or the politicians of Rome in the same forum. Dis- 
tance is overcome, and the citizens of Georgia and of Maine can 
be brought to cooperate in the same gi-eat object, with as perfect 
a community of views and feelings as actuated the tribes of Rome 
in the assemblies of the people. It is obvious that liberty has 
a more extensive and durable foundation in the United States 



176 THE FLOOR OF CONGRESS. 

than it ever has had in any other age or country. By the rep- 
resentative principle, — a principle unknown and impracticable 
among the ancients, — the whole mass of society is brought to 
operate in constraining the action of power, and in the conserva- 
tion of public liberty. G. m'duffie. 

XIX. — OBJECTS OF THE MEXICAN WAR. 

Sir, I propose to hold a plain talk to-day ; and I say that, 
according to my best judgment, the object of this bill is pat- 
ronage, office, the gratification of friends. This very measure 
for raising ten regiments creates four or five hundred officers, — 
colonels, subalterns; and not them only, — for all these I feel some 
respect, — but there are also paymasters, contractors, persons 
engaged in the transportation service, commissaries, even down 
to sutlers, et id onme genus^ people who handle the public money 
without facing the foe, one and all of whom are true -descendants, 
or, if not, true representatives of Ancient Pistol, who said, 

" I shall sutler be 
Unto the camp, and profits will accrue. ' ' 

Sir, I hope, with no disrespect for the applicants and the 
aspirants, and the patriots (and among them are some sincere 
patriots) who would fight for their country, and those others who 
are not ready to fight, but who are willing to be paid, — with due 
respect for all of them according to their several degrees and 
their merits, I hope they will all be disappointed. I hope that, 
as the pleasant season advances, the whole may find it for their 
interest to place themselves, of mild mornings, in the cars, and 
take their destination to their respective places of honorable pri- 
vate occupation and of civil employment. They have my good 
wishes that they may find the way to their homes from the Av- 
enue and the Capitol, and from the purlieus of the President's 
house, in good health themselves, and that they may find their 
families all very happy to receive them. 

But, sir, to speak more seriously, this war was waged for the 
object of creating new States on the southern frontier of the 
United States out of Mexican territory, and with such population 
as could be found resident thereupon. I have opposed this 
object. I am against all accessions of territory to form new 
States. And this is no matter of sentimentality, which I am to pa- 
rade before mass-meetings or before my constituents at home. It 
is not a matter with me of declamation or of regret, or of expressed 
repugnance. It is a matter of firm, unchangeable purpose. I 



UNJUST NATIONAL ACQUISITIONS. 177 

yield nothing to the force of circumstances that have occurred, or 
that I can consider as likely to occur. And therefore I say, sir, 
that if I were asked to-day whether, for the sake of peace, I would 
take a treaty for adding two new States to the Union on our 
southern border, I would say No ! — distinctly, No ! And I wish 
every man in the United States to understand that to be my 
judgment and my purpose. 

I said upon our southern border, because the present proposi- 
tion takes that locality. I would say the same of the western, 
the north-eastern, or of any other border. I resist to-day, and 
for ever, and to the end, any proposition to add any foreign terri- 
tory, south or west, north or east, to the States of this Union as 
they are constituted and held together under the constitution. 
Sir, I see well enough all the adverse indications. But I am 
sustained by a deep and a conscientious sense of duty ; and while 
supported by that feeling, and while such great interests are at 
stake, I defy auguries, and ask no omen but my country's cause ! 

WEBSTER. 



XX. — UNJUST NATIONAL ACQUISITIONS. 
I. 

Mr. President, the uneasy desire to augment our territory has 
depraved the moral sense and blighted the otherwise keen sagac- 
ity of our people. Sad, very sad, are the lessons which Time 
has written for us. Through and in them all I see nothing but the 
inflexible execution of that old law which ordains, as eternal, the 
cardinal rule, " Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's goods, nor 
any thing which is his." Since I have lately heard so much 
about the dismemberment of Mexico, I have looked back to see 
how, in the course of events, which some call '' Providence," it 
has fared with other nations who engaged in this work of dis- 
memberment. 

I see that in the latter half of the eighteenth century, three 
powerful nations, Russia, Austria, and Prussia, united in the 
dismemberment of Poland. They said, too, as you say, "It is 
our destiny." They "wanted room." Doubtless each of these 
thought, with his share of Poland, his power was too strong ever 
to fear invasion, or even insult. One had his California, another 
his New Mexico, and the third his Vera Cruz. 

Did they remain untouched and incapable of harm ? Alas ! 
no — far, very far, from it. Retrib'utive justice must fulfill its 
destiny too. A very few years pass off, and we hear of a new 
man, a Corsican lieutenant, the self-named " armed soldier of 



178 THE FLOOR OF CONGRESS. 

Democracy," Napoleon. He ravages Austria, covers her land 
with blood, drives the Northern Caesar from his capital, and 
sleeps in his palace. Austria may now remember how her power 
trampled upon Poland. Did she not pay dear, very dear, for 
her California? 

But has Prussia no atonement to make ? You see this same 
Napoleon, the blind instrument of Providence, at work there. 
The thunders of his cannon at Jena ^ proclaim the work of retri- 
bution for Poland's wrongs; and the successors of the Great 
Frederick, the drill-sergeant of Europe, are seen flying across 
the sandy plains that surround their capital, right glad if they 
may escape captivity and death. 

But how fares it with the Autocrat of Russia ? Is he secure 
in his share of the spoils of Poland? No. Suddenly we see, 
sir, six hundred thousand armed men marching to Moscow. Does 
his Vera Cruz protect him now ? Far from it. Blood, slaugh- 
ter, desolation, spread abroad over the land ; and, finally, the 
conflagration of the old commercial metropolis of Russia closes 
the retribution : she must pay for her share in the dismember- 
ment of her impotent neighbor. 



II. 

Mr. President, a mind more prone to look for the judgments 
of Heaven in the doings of men than mine can not fail, in all 
unjust acquisitions of territory, to see the providence of God. 
When Moscow burned, it seemed as if the earth was lighted up, 
that the nations might behold the scene. As that mighty sea of 
fire gathered and heaved and rolled upward, and yet higher, till 
its flames licked the stars, and fired the whole heavens, it did 
seem as though the God of the nations was writing, in characters 
of flame, on the front of His throne, that doom that shall fall 
upon the strong nation which tramples in scorn upon the weak. 

And what fortune awaits him, the appointed executor of this 
work, when it was all done ? He, too, conceived the notion that 
his destiny pointed onward to universal dominion. France was 
too small, — Europe he thought should bow down before him. 
But as soon as this idea takes possession of his soul, he too 
becomes powerless. His Ter'minus must recede too. Bight 
there, while he witnessed the humiliation, and, doubtless, medi- 
tated the subjugation of Bussia, He who holds the winds in His 
fist, gathered the snows of the North, and blew them upon his 

* Pronounced Ya'na. 



A HIGHWAY TO THE PACIFIC. 179 

six hundred thousand nieu. Thej fled, — they froze, — they per- 
ished. 

And now the mighty Napoleon, who had resolved on universal 
dominion, Ae, too, is summoned to answer for the violation of 
that ancient law, "Thou shalt not covet any thing which is thy 
neighbor's." How is the mighty fallen! He, beneath whose 
proud footstep Europe trembled, he is now an exile at Elba, and 
now, finally, a prisoner on the rock of St. HeFena, — and there, 
on a barren island, in an unfrequented sea, in the crater of an 
extinguished volcano, there is the death-bed of the mighty con- 
queror. Ail his annexations have come to that ! His last hour 
is now at hand ; and he, the man of destiny^ he who had rocked 
the world as with the throes of an earthquake, is now power- 
less, still, — even as the beggar, so he died. 

On the wings of a tempest that raged with unwonted fury, up 
to the throne of the only Power that controlled him while he 
lived, went the fiery soul of that wonderful warrior, another wit- 
ness to the existence of that eternal decree, that they who do not 
rule in righteousness shall perish from the earth. He has found 
"room," at last. And France, she too has found "room." Her 
" eagles" now no longer scream along the banks of the Danube, 
the Po, and the Borys'thenes. They have returned home, to their 
old aerie, between the Alps, the Rhine, and the Pyrenees. 

So shall it be with yours. You may carry them to the loftiest 
peaks of the Cordif leras ; they may wave, with insolent triumph, 
in the halls of the Montezumas ; the armed men of Mexico may 
quail before them : but the weakest hand in Mexico, uplifted iu 
prayer to the God of Justice, may call down against you a Power 
in the presence of which the iron hearts of your warriors shall be 
turned into ashes ! thomas corwik. 



XXL — A HIGHWAY TO THE PACIFIC. 

Mr. President, 1 go for a national highway from the Missis- 
sippi to the Pacific. And I go against all schemes of individu- 
als or of companies, and especially those who come here and ask 
of the Congress of the United States to give themselves and 
their assigns the means of making a road and taxing the people 
for the use of it. If they should make it, they are to tax us for 
the use of it — tax the people eight or ten millions a year for 
using the road which their own money built. A fine scheme, 
that ! But they would never build it, neither themselves nor 
their assigns. It would all end in stockjobbing. I repudiate 
the whole idea, sir. I go for a national highway — no stock- 
jobbing. 



180 THE FLOOE, OF CONGRESS. 

We find all the localities of the country precisely such as a 
national central road would require. The bay of San Francisco, 
the finest in the world, is in the center of the western coast of 
North America ; it is central, and without a rival. It will 
accommodate the commerce of that coast, both north and south, 
up to the frozen regions, and down to the torrid zone. It is cen- 
tral in that respect. The commerce of the broad Pacific Ocean 
Yfill center there. The commerce of Asia will center there. 
Follow the same latitude across the country, and it strikes the 
center of the valley of the Mississippi. It strikes the Missis- 
sippi near the confluence of all the great waters which concen'r 
trate in the valley of the Mississippi. It comes to the center 
of the valley. It comes to St. Louis. Follow the prolongation 
of that central line, and you find it cutting the heart of the great 
States between the Mississippi Eiver and the Atlantic Ocean. 
Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, a part of Yirginia, Kentucky, and Penn- 
sylvania, — they are all traversed or touched by that great 
central line. 

We own the country, from sea to sea, — from the Atlantic to 
the Pacific, — and upon a breadth equal to the length of the 
Mississippi, and embracing the v/hole temperate zone. Three 
thousand miles across, and half that breadth, is the magnificent 
j^arallelogram of our domain. We can run a national central 
road through and through the v/hole distance, under our flag and 
under our- laws. Military reasons require us to make it; for 
-troops and munitions must go there. Political reasons require 
us to make it ; it will be a chain of union between the Atlantic 
and Pacific States. Commercial reasons demand it from us ; and 
here I touch a boundless field, dazzling and bewildering the imag- 
ination from its vastness and importance. The trade of the 
Pacific Ocean, of the western coast of North America, and of 
eastern Asia, will all take its track ; and not only for ourselves, 
but for posterity. 

Sir, in no instance has the great Asiatic trade failed to carry 
the nation or the people which possessed it to the highest pinna- 
cle of wealth and power, and with it to the highest attainments 
of letters, art, and seience. And so will it continue to be. An 
American road to India, through the heart of our country, will 
revive upon its line all the wonders of which we have read, and 
eclipse them. The western wilderness, from the Pacific to the 
Mississippi, will spring into life under its touch. A long line of 
cities will grow up. Existing cities will take a new start. The state 
of the world calls for a new road to India, and it is our destiny 
to give it — the last and greate;:;t. Let us act up to the great- 



THE CAPITOL OR THE CONSTITUTION. 181 

ness of the occasion, and sliow ourselves worthy of the extraor- 
dinary circumstances in which we are placed, by securing while 
we can an American road to India, central and national, for our- 
selves and our posterity, now and hereafter, for thousands of 
years to come. t. h. benton. 



XXIL— THE CAPITOL OR THE CONSTITUTION. 

Sir, the senator from Massachusetts has expressed a preference 
for the constitution to the capitol of his country. He has dared 
to declare that he prized the magna chart a ^ of American liberty 
— the sacred bond of our union, the tie which binds together 
twelve millions of freemen — above the stones and mortar which 
compose the crumbling mass within whose walls we are assembled. 
*^ The very head and front of his offending hath this extent y no 
more." Now, grant, sir, that in his judgment, as well as that 
of many here, the very existence of our liberties is involved in 
the surrender of the principle he contended for ; grant that the 
concentration of legislative and executive power in the hands of 
a single man is the death-blow to the constitution, and that the 
senator was right in considering the proposed appropriation as 
establishing the very principle which gave that fatal blow ; and 
who is he that, thus believing, would support that proposition 
because the guns of the enemy were battering at the walls of the 
capitol ? 

Where, sir, is the coward — where is the traitor who would not 
rather see the capitol than the constitution of his country in 
ruins? or who would lend himself to the establishment of a 
despotism among us, with a view to save this building for the des- 
pot to revel in? Sir, in the days when Themis' to-cles led the 
Athenians to victory at Safamis, he advised them to surrender 
their capitol for the preservation of the constitution of their 
country. That gallant people rose under the impulse of patriot- 
ism as one man, and with a stern resolution to yield life itself 
rather than abandon their liberties, and surrender the proud priv- 
ilege of legislating for themselves to the delegate of a Persian 
despot, who offered them ^' all their own dominions, together with 
an accession of territory ample as their wishes, upon the single 
condition that they should receive law and suffer him to preside 
in Grreece." At that eventful period of their history, Crys'ilus 
alone proposed the surrender of their constitution to save the 
capitol ; and they stoned him to death. The public indignation 

* Pronounced rna'/na har'ta, 

16 



182 THE FLOOU OF CONGRESS. 

was not yet satisfied ; for the Athenian matrons then rose and 
inflicted the same punishment on his wife. Leaving their capitol 
and their noble city, rich as it was in the productions of every 
art, and glittering all over with the proudest trophies and the 
most splendid temples in the world ; deserting, in the cause of 
free government, the very land that gave them birth, they em- 
barked on board their ships, and fought that battle, the name of 
which has made the bosoms of freemen to thrill with sympathy 
in all succeeding ages, and shall cause the patriot's heart to beat 
higher with emotion through countless ages to come. 

JOHN M. CLAYTON. 



XXm.— PEACEABLE SECESSION IMPOSSIBLE, 

Mr. President, I should much prefer to have heard from 
every member on this floor declarations of opinion that this Union 
could never be dissolved, than the declaration of opinion by any 
body that, in any case, under the pressure of any circumstances, 
such a dissolution was possible. I hear with distress and anguish 
the word " secession," especially Avhen it falls from the lips of 
those who are patriotic, and known to the country, and known 
all over the world for their political services. 

Secession ! Peaceable secession ! Sir, your eyes and mine 
are never destined to see that miracle. The dismemberment of 
this- vast country without convulsion! The breaking up of the 
fountains of the great deep without ruffling the surface ! Who 
is so foolish — I beg everybody's pardon — as to expect to sec 
any such thing ? 

Sir, he who sees these States novf revolving in harmony around 
a common center, and expects to see them quit their places and 
fly off without convulsion, may look the next hour to see the 
heavenly bodies rush from their spheres, and jostle against each 
other in the realms of space, without causing the crush of the 
universe. There can be no such thing as a peaceable secession. 
Peaceable secession is an utter impossibility. Is the great con- 
stitution under which we live, covering this whole country, is ic 
to be thawed and melted away by secession, as the snows on the 
mountain melt under the influence of a vernal sun, disappear 
almost unobserved, and run off? No, sir ! No, sir! I will not 
state what might produce the disruption of the Union ; but, si:*, 
I see as plainly as I see the sun in heaven, what that disruption 
itself must produce ; I see that it must produce war, and such a 
war as I will not describe, in its tioo-fold character. 

WEBSTER. 



PERMANENCY OF STATES. 183 



XXIV. — PERMANENCY OF STATES. 

Mr.. President, it has always seemed to me to be a grateful 
reflection, that, however short and transient may be the lives of 
individuals, States may be permanent. The great corporations 
that embrace the government of mankind, protect their liberties, 
and secure their happiness, may have something of perpetuity, 
and, as I might say, of earthly immortality. For my part, sir, 
I gratify myself by contemplating what in the future will be the 
condition of that generous State which has done me the honor to 
keep me in the counsels of the country for so many years. I see 
nothing about her in prospect less than that which encircles her 
now. I feel that when I and all those that now hear me shall 
have gone to our last home, and afterwards, when mould may 
have gathered upon our memories, as it will have done upon our 
tombs, that State, so early to take her part in the great contest 
of the Revolution, will stand, as she has stood and now stands, 
like that column which, near her capital, perpetuates the memory 
of the first great battle of the Revolution, firm, erect, and im- 
movable. 

I believe, sir, that if commotion shall shake the country, there 
will be one rock for ever, as solid as the granite of her hills, for 
the Union to repose upon. I believe that, if disasters arise, 
bringing clouds which shall obscure the ensign now over her and 
over us, there will be one star that will but burn the brighter 
amid the darkness of that night ; and I believe that, if in the 
remotest ages (I trust they will be infinitely remote !) an occa- 
sion shall occur when the sternest duties of patriotism are de- 
manded and to be performed, Massachusetts will imitate her own 
example ; and that, as at the breaking out of the Revolution she 
was the first to offer the outpouring of her blood and her treas- 
ure in the struggle for liberty, so she will be hereafter ready, 
when the emergency arises, to repeat and renew that offer, with 
a thousand times as many warm hearts, and a thousand times as 
many strong hands ! ib. 



XXV. — LIBERTY OF SPEECH. 

Important, sir, as I deem it to discuss, on all proper occa- 
sions, the policy of the measures at present pursued, it is still 
more important to maintain the right of such discussion in its 
full and just extent. Sentiments lately sprung up, and now 
growing fashionable, make it necessary to be explicit on this 
point. The more I perceive a disposition to check the freedom 



184 THE FLOOR OF CONGRESS. 

of inquiry by extravagant and unconstitutional pretenses, the 
firmer shall be the tone in which I shall assert, and the freer the 
manner in which I shall exercise it. 

It is the ancient and undoubted prerogative of this people to 
canvass public measures, and the merits of public men. It is a 
" home-bred right," a fireside privilege. It hath ever been en- 
joyed in every house, cottage, and cabin, in the nation. It is not 
to be drawn into controversy. It is as undoubted as the right 
of breathing the air, or walking on the earth. Belonging to 
private life as a right, it belongs to public life as a duty ; and it 
is the last duty which those whose representative I am shall 
find me to abandon. Aiming at all times to be courteous and 
temperate in its use, except when the right itself shall be ques- 
tioned, I shall then carry it to its extent. I shall place my- 
self on the extreme boundary of my right, and bid defiance to 
any arm that would move me from my ground. 

This high, constitutional privilege I shall defend and exercise 
within this house, and without this house, and in all places ; in 
time of peace, and in all times. Living, I shall assert it; and, 
should I leave no other inheritance to my children, by the bless- 
ing of Grod I will leave them the inheritance of free principles, 
and the example of a manly, independent, and constitutional 
defense of them. ib. 



XXVI. — SECRET AND PROSCRIPTIVE SOCIETIES. 

I AM not allowed, sir, to reach the merits of the question before 
the Senate without alluding to the body of men who bear the 
name of " Know Nothings." They are said to have contrived 
their disguise with so much ingenuity that even a person who is 
not a novitiate can not disclaim a knowledge of their cere- 
monies and principles, without implying his communion and mem- 
bership with them. Nevertheless, sir, I must be permitted to 
deny all connection with this new order. I am under no respon- 
sibility for its doings, and I have not the least sympathy with 
its principles or sentiments. 

I belong to one voluntary association of men ; one which has 
to do with spiritual affairs — it is a branch of the Christian 
church. That association is an ope?i one; it performs all its 
rites and gives all its instructions with publicity; it invites every 
man to come in and partake of its privileges. 

I belong to one temporal society of men, and that is the polit- 
ical party which embodies most fully and truly, according to my 
notions, though, I confess, very inadequately, the principles of 



< 



POLICY OF ROADS. 185 

the Declaration of Independence and of the Constitution of 
the United States. This also is an open association. All its 
transactions are conducted in broad daylight ; and it invites all 
citizens to cooperate with it in maintaining good government and 
advancing the cause of human nature. 

These two are^ the only voluntary associations to which I now 
belong, or ever have belonged, since I became a man ; and, unless 
I am bereft of reason, they are the only associations of men to 
which I shall ever suffer myself to belong. 

Secret societies, sir ? — Before I would place my hand between 
the hands of other men in a secret Lodge, Order, Class, or Coun- 
cil, and, bending my knee before them, enter into combination 
with them for any object, personal or political, good or bad, I 
would pray to Grod that that hand and that knee might be par- 
alyzed, and that I might become an object of the pity, and even 
of the mockery, of my fellow-men. Swear, sir ? — I, a man, an 
x\.merican citizen, a Christian, swear to submit myself to the 
guidance and direction of other men, surrendering my oivn 
judgment to their judgment, and my own conscience to their 
keeping ? No, sir, no ! 

Proscribe a man, sir, because he was not born in the same 
town, or county, or state, or country, in which I was born? 
\Yhy, sir, I do most earnestly and affectionately advise all per- 
sons, hereafter to be born, that they be born in the United States ; 
and, if they can, without inconvenience, to be born in the State of 
New York, and thus avoid a great deal of trouble for themselves 
and for others. Mr. President, you now know the leno-th and 
the breadth of my connection with the new and mysterious Order 
of patriots, the Know Nothings ! w. ii. ssward. 



XXVn. — POLICY OF ROADS. 

It would be difficult, Mr. President, to exaggerate the influ- 
ence of roads as a means of civilization. This, at least, may bo 
said : Where roads are not, civilization can not be ; and civil- 
ization advances as roads are extended. By roads, religion 
and knowledge are diffused ; intercourse of all kinds is pro- 
moted ; the producer, the manufacturer, and the consumer, are all 

* Pronounce are like the letter r ; been, bm ; aga,in, agen. Give short e in 
yet, get, &o., its true sound. Say catch, not ketch; just, not jest. In several 
words (but not in all) like evil, even, heaven, &g., the vowel before the final 
consonant is unsounded. Give the ph in sphere its / sound. The t and e in 
4fften should be unsounded. 

16^ 



186 THE FLOOR OF CONGRESS. 

brought nearer together; commerce is quickened; markets are 
opened; property, wherever touched by these lines, is changed, 
as by a magic rod, into new values ; and the great current of 
travel, like that stream of classic fable, or one of the rivers of 
our own California, hurries in a channel of golden sand. 

The roads, together with the laws of ancient Rome, are now 
better remembered than her victories. The Flaminian and Ap- 
pian ways, once trod by returning proconsuls and tributary kings, 
ijtill remain as beneficent representatives of her departed grand- 
eur. Under Grod, the road and the schoolmaster are the two 
chief agents of human improvement. The education begun by 
the schoolmaster is expanded, liberalized, and completed, by inter- 
course with the world ; and this intercourse finds new opportu- 
nities and inducements in every road that is built. 

Our country has already done much in this regard. Through 
a remarkable line of steam communications, chiefly by railroad, 
its whole population is now, or will be soon, brought close to the 
borders of Iowa. The cities of the southern seaboard — Charles- 
ton, Savannah, and Mobile — are already stretching their lines 
in this direction ; while the traveler from all the principal points 
of the northern seaboard — from Portland, Boston, Providence, 
New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington — now 
passes without impediment to this remote region, traversing a 
territory of unexampled resources, at once a magazine and a 
granary, — the largest coal-field, and at the same time the largest 
corn-field of the known globe, — winding his way among churches 
and school-houses, among forests and gardens, by villages, towns, 
and cities, along the sea, along rivers and lakes, with a speed 
which may recall the gallop of the ghostly horseman in the 
ballad : 

'' Fled past on right and left how fast 
Each forest, grove, and bower ! 
On right and left fled past how fast 
Each city, town, and tower ! 

'^ Tramp ! tramp ! along the land they speed. 
Splash ! splash ! along the sea ! " 

On the banks of the Mississippi he is now arrested. The pro- 
posed road in Iowa will bear the adventurer yet further, to the 
banks of the Missouri ; and this distant giant stream, mightiest 
of the earth, leaping from its sources in the Bocky Mountains, 
will be clasped with the Atlantic in the same iron bracelet. In 
all this I see not only further opportunities for commerce, but a 
new extension to civilization, and increased strength to our national 
Union. SUMNER. 



THE OREGON SETTLEMENT. 187 

XXVni.— THE OREGON SETTLEMENT. 

It would seem that the white race alone received the divine 
command to subdue and replenish the earth ; for it is the only 
race that has obeyed it — the only one that hunts out new and 
distant lands, and even a new world, to subdue and replenish. 
Starting from western Asia, taking Europe for their field, and 
the sun for their guide, and leaving the Mongolians behind, they 
arrived, after many ages, on the shores of the Atlantic, which they 
lit up with the lights of science and religion, and adorned with 
the useful and the elegant arts. Three and a half centuries ago, 
this race, in obedience to the great command, arrived in the New 
World, and found new lands to subdue and replenish. Even 
four-score years ago the philosophic Burke was considered a rash 
man because he said the English colonists would top the Alle- 
ghanies, and descend into the valley of the Mississippi, and 
occupy without parchment, if the crown refused to make grants 
of land. What was considered a rash declaration eighty years 
ago, is old history in our young country at this day. 

I cannot repine, sir, that this capitol has replaced the wigwam, 
this Christian people replaced the savages, white matrons the red 
squaws, and that such men as Washington, Franklin, and Jeffer- 
son, have taken the place of Powhatan, Opechonecanough, and 
other red men, however respectable they may have been as 
savages. 

Sir, the apparition of the van of the Caucasian race, rising 
upon the Oriental nations in the east, after having left them on 
the west, and after having completed the circumnavigation of the 
globe, must wake up and animate the torpid body of old Asia. 
Our position and policy will commend us to their hospitable 
reception ; political considerations will aid the action of social 
and commercial influences. Pressed upon by the great powers 
of Europe, — the same that press upon us, — they must in our 
approach see the advent of friends, not of foes ; of benefactors, 
not of invaders. 

The moral and intellectual superiority of the white race will 
do the rest ; and thus the youngest people and the newest land 
will become the reviver and the regenerator of the oldest. It is 
in this point of view, and as acting upon the social, political, and 
religious condition of Asia, and giving a new point of departure 
to her ancient civilization, that I look upon the settlement of the 
Columbia River by the van of the Caucasian race as the most 
momentous human event in the history of man since his disper- 
sion over the face of the earth. t. h. benton. 



PART EIGHTH.— THE STAGE. 



I.__-THE CONSPIKATORS OF PALERMO. 

MONTALBA, GUIDO, PKOCIDA, RAIMOND. 

Proclda. Welcome, my brave associates ! — We can share 
The wolf's wild freedom here. The oppressor's haunt 
Is not 'midst rocks and caverns. — Art thou here, 
With thy deep wrongs and resolute despair, 
Childless Montalba ? 

Montalba {advancing). He is at thy side. 
Call on that desolate father, in the hour 
When his revenge is nigh. 

Pro, Art thou, too, here, 
Gruido, the exile from thy mountain home ? 

Guido, Even ^o. I stood 
Last night before my own ancestral towers, 
An unknown outcast, while the tempest beat -^ 

On my bare head — what recked it ? — There was joy 
Within, and revelry. They little deemed 
Who heard their melodies. But there are vows 
Known to the mountain-echoes. Pro'cida ! 
Call on the outcast when revenge is nigh. 

P7^o. I knew a young Sicilian, one whose heart 
Should be all fire. On that most guilty day. 
When, with our martyred Con'radfn, the flower 
Of the land's knighthood perished, he of whom j 
I speak, a weeping boy. 
Stood by the scaffold, with extended arms. 
Calling upon his father, whose last look 
Tarned full on him its parting agony. 
Doth he remember still that bitter hour ? 

Gui. He bears a sheathless sword ! — 
Call on the orphan when revenge is nigh. 

Pro. Our band shows gallantly — but there are men 
Who should be with us now, had they not dared 
In some wild moment of festivity 
To give their full hearts wav, and breathe a wish 

' 18S 



THE CONSPIRATORS OF PALERMO. 189 

For freedom ! — But have they not 
Brothers or sons amongst us ? 

Gui, Look on me ! 
I have a brother, a young, high-souled boy, 
His doom is sealed 

With theirs of whom you spoke ; and I have knelt — 
Ay, scorn me not ! 't was for his life — I knelt 
E'en at the viceroy's feet, and he put on 
That heartless laugh of cold malignity 
We know so well, and spurned me. But the stain 
Of shame like this takes blood to wash it off, 
And thus it shall be canceled ! — Call on me, 
When the stern moment of revenge is nigh. 

Pro, I call upon thee now ! — now — now — before 
The majesty of yon pure Heaven, whose eye 
Is on our hearts, whose ric^hteous arm befriends 
The arm that strikes for freedom ; speak ! decree 
The fate of our oppressors. 

Mont, Let them fall 
When dreaming least of peril ! Hide the sword 
With a thick veil of myrtle, and in halls 
Of banqueting, where the full wine-cup .shines 
Red in the festal torch-light ; meet we there, 
And bid them welcome to the feast of death. 

Raimond. Must innocence and guilt 
Perish alike ? 

Mont, Who talks of innocence ? 
When hath their hand been stayed for innocence ? 
Let them all perish ! — Heaven will choose its own. 
Let them all perish ! — And if one be found 
Amid our band, to stay the avenging steel 
For pity or remorse, or boyish love, 
Then be his doom as theirs ! — Why gaze ye thus ? 
Brethren, what means your silence ? 

Qui, Be it so ! 
If one amongst us stay the avenging steel 
For love or pity, be his doom as theirs ! 
Pledge we our faith to this ! 

Rai. Our faith to this I 
No ! I but dreamed I heard it ! — Can it be ? 
My countrymen, my father ! — Is it thus 
That freedom should be won ? — Awake ! Awake 
To loftier thoughts ! — Lift up, exultingly, 
On the crowned heights, and to the sweeping winds, 



190 THE STAGE. 

Your glorious banner ! — Let your trumpet's blast 

Make the tombs thrill with echoes ! Call aloud, 

Proclaim from all your hills, the land shall bear 

The stranger's yoke no longer ! — What is he 

Who carries on his practiced lip a smile, 

Beneath his vest a dagger, which but waits 

Till the heart bounds with joy, to still its beatings ? 

That which our nature's instinct doth recoil from, 

And our blood curdle at, — ay, yours and mine, — 

A murderer ! — Heard ye ? — Shall that name with ours 

Go down to after days ? — 0, friends ! a cause 

Like that for which we rise hath made bright names 

Of the elder time as rallying-words to men, 

Sounds full of might and immortality ! 

And shall not ours be such ? 

Mont. Fond dreamer, peace ! 
Fame ! What is fame ? — Will our unconscious dust 
Start into thrilling rapture from the grave, 
At the vain breath of praise ? — I tell thee, youth, 
Our souls are parched with agonizing thirst. 
Which must be quenched, though death were in the draught 
• We must have vengeance, for our foes have left 
No other joy unblighted. 

Pro, ! my son, 
The time is past for such high dreams as thine. 
Thou know'st not whom we deal with. Knightly faith, 
And chivalrous "^ honor, are but things whereon 
They cast disdainful pity. We must meet 
Falsehood with wiles, and insult with revenge. 

Rai, Procida, know, 
I shrink from crime alone. 0, if my voice 
Might yet have power amongst j^ou, I would say, 
Associates, leaders, be avenged ! but yet 
As knights, as warriors ! 

Mont, Peace ! have we not borne 
The indelible taint of con tumely and chains ? 
We are not knights and warriors. Our bright crests 
Have been defiled and trampled to the earth. 
Boy ! we are slaves — and our revenge shall be 
Beep as a slave's disgrace. 

Rai. Why, then, farewell ; 
I leave you to your counsels. He that still 

* The ch in chivalry, chiv'alroiLs, kQ., has the sound of sJu 



Caesar's message to cato. 191 

Would hold his lofty nature undebased, 
And his name pure, were but a loiterer here. 
Dearer than vengeance — ay, than freedom, dearer 
Is honor to me. And so, fare ye well. 

MRS. HEMANS (altered). 



n. — a^SAR'S MESSAGE TO CATO. 

BECIUS AND CATO. 

Decius. Caesar sends health to Cato. 

Cato. Could he send it 
To Cato's slaughtered friends, it would be welcome. 
Are not your orders to address the Senate ? 

Dec, My business is with Cato. Caesar sees 
The straits to which you 're driven ; and, as he knows 
Cato's high worth, is anxious for your life. 

Cato. ^Ij life is grafted on the fate of Rome. 
Would he save Cato ? Bid him spare his country 
Tell your dictator this : and tell him, Cato 
Disdains a life which he has power to offer. 

Dec. Rome and her senators submit to C^sar ; 
Her generals and her consuls are no more, 
Who checked his conquests, and denied his triumphs. 
Yfhy will not Cato be this Caesar's friend ? 

Cato. Those very reasons thou hast urged forbid it. 

Dec. Cato, I 've orders to expostulate. 
And reason with you, as from Mend to friend. 
Think on the storm that gathers o'er your head, 
And threatens every hour to burst upon it ; 
Still may you stand high in your country's honors : 
Do but comply and make your peace with Caesar, 
Rome will rejoice, and cast its eyes on Cato, 
As on the second of mankind. 

Cato. No more ; 
I must not think of life on such conditions. 

Dec. Caesar is well acquainted with your virtues, 
And therefore sets this value on your life : 
Let him but know the price of Cato's friendship, 
And name your terms. 

Cato. Bid him disband his legions. 
Restore the commonwealth to liberty, 
Submit his actions to the public censure, 
And stand the judgment of a R.oman Senate ; 
Bid him do this, and Cato is his friend. 



192 THE STAGE. | 

-1 

Dec, Cato, the world talks loudly of your wisdom — j 

Cato. Nay, more, — though Cato's voice was ne'er employed \ 

To clear the guilty, and to varnish crimes, • 

Myself will mount the Rostrum in his favor, ' 

And strive to gain his pardon from the people. - 

Dec. A style like this becomes a conqueror. \ 

Cato. Decius, a style like this becomes a Roman. \ 

Dec. What is a Roman, that is Caesar's foe ? \ 

Cato. Greater than Csesar : he 's a friend to virtue. - 

Dec. Consider, Cato, you 're in Utica, ] 

And at the head of your own little Senate ; 

You don't now thunder in the Capitol, j 

With all the mouths of Rome to second you. ] 

Cato. Let him consider that who drives us hither ; | 

'T is Caesar's sword has made Rome's Senate little, 

And thinned its ranks. Alas ! thy dazzled eye ■ | 

Beholds this man in a false glaring light, | 

Which conquest and success have thrown upon him; '\ 

Didst thou but view him right, thou 'dst see him black i 

With murder, treason, sacrilege, and — crimes ^ 

That strike my soul with horror but to name them. j 

I know thou look'st on me as on a wretch i 

Beset with ills, and covered with misfortunes ; 

But, as I love my country, millions of worlds 

Should never buy me to be like that Caesar. 

Dec. Does Cato send this answer back to Caesar, 
For all his generous cares and proffered friendship ? 

Cato. His cares for me are insolent and vain ; 
Presumptuous man ! the gods take care of Cato. 
Would Caesar show the greatness of his soul, 
Bid him employ his care for these my friends, 
And make good use of his ill-gotten power. 
By sheltering men much better than himself. addison. 



III.__COIlIOLANUS AND AUFIDIUS. 

The passages enclosed between brackets in the following scene are by Shaks- 
peare ; the rest, with a few alterations, are by Thomson. 

Coriolaniis. I plainly, Tullus, by your looks perceive 
You disapprove my conduct. 

Aufidius. I mean not to assail thee with the clamor 
Of loud reproaches and the war of words ; 
But, pride apart, and all that can pervert 



CORIOLANUS AND AUFIDIUS, 19B 

The light of steady reason, here to make 
A candid, fair proposal 

Cor. Speak, I hear thee. 

Auf. 1 need not tell thee, that I have performed 
My utmost promise. Thou hast been protected ; 
Hast had thy amplest, most ambitious wish ; 
Thy wounded pride is healed, thy dear revenge 
Completely sated ; and, to crown thy fortune, 
At the same time thy peace with Rome restored. 
Thou art no more a Yolscian, but a Eoman. 
Keturn, return ; thy duty calls upon thee 
Still to protect the city thou hast saved ; 
It yet may be in danger from our arms. 
Retire : I will take care thou may'st with safety. 

Cor. With safety ? — safety ? Thinkest thou that I, 
Coriolanus, of Co-ri'oli, 

Will stoop to thee for safety ? — No : my safeguard 
Is in myself, a bosom void of fear. 
O, 't is an act of cowardice and baseness 
To seize the very time my hands are fettered 
By the strong chain of former obligation, 
The safe, sure moment, to insult me. Safety ! — 
Were I now free, as on that day I was, 
When at Corioli I tamed thy pride, 
This had not been. 

Auf Thou speakest the truth : it had not. 
O, for that time again ! Propitious gods, 
If you will bless me, grant it ! Know, for that, 
For that dear purpose, I have now proposed 
Thou shouldst return ; I pray thee, Marcius, do it ; 
And we shall meet again on nobler terms. 

Cor, Till I have cleared my honor in your council, 
And proved before them all, to thy confusion, 
The falsehood of thy charge, — as soon in battle 
I would before thee fly, and howl for mercy, 
As quit the station they 've assigned me here ! 

Auf Thou canst not hope acquittal from the Volscians. 

Cor. I do : — nay, more, expect their approbation, 
Their thanks. I will obtain them such a peace 
As thou durst never ask ; a perfect union 
Of their whole nation with imperial Eome, 
In all her privileges, all her rights ; 
By the just gods, I will ! — What wouldst thou more ? 

Auf What would I more, proud Roman ? This I would — 
17 



194 THE STAGE. 

Fire the cursed forest, where these Eoman wolves 

Haunt and infest their nobler neighbors round them ; 

Extirpate from the bosom of this land 

A false, perfidious people, who, beneath 

The mask of freedom, are a combination 

Against the liberty of human kind — 

The genuine seed of outlaws and of robbers. 

Cor, The seed of gods ! — 'T is not for thee, vain boaster,- 
'T is not for such as thou, so often spared 
By her victorious sword, — to speak of Rome 
But with respect, and awful veneration. 
Whate'er her blots, whate'er her giddy factions, 
There is more virtue in one single year 
Of Roman story, than your Volscian annals 
Can boast through all their creeping, dark duration. 

Auf, I thank thy rage : — This full displays the traitor. 

[ Cor. Traitor ! How now ? 

Auf. Ay, traitor, Marcius. 

Cor, Marcius ! 

Auf. Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius : dost thou think 
I '11 grace thee ..with that robbery, thy stolen name, 
Coriolanus, in Oorioli? 

You lords, and heads of the state, perfidiously 
He has betrayed your business, and given up, 
For certain drops of salt, your city Rome, — 
I say, your city, — to his wife and mother ; 
Breaking his oath and resolution like 
A twist of rotten silk ; never admitting 
Counsel of the war : but at his nurse's tears 
He whined and roared awa}^ your victory; 
That pages blushed at him, and men of heart 
Looked wondering at each other. 

Cor. Hearest thou, Mars? 

Auf. Name not the god, thou boy of tears ! 

Cor. Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart 
Too great for what contains it. Boy ! 0, slave ! — 
Cut me to pieces, Volsces ; men and lads. 
Stain all your edges on me. Boy ! False hound ! 
If you have writ your annals true, 't is there, 
That, like an eagle in a dove-cot, I 
Fluttered your Volscians in Corioli. 
Alone I did it. Boy !] — But let us part, 
Lest my rash hand should do a hasty deed 
My cooler thought forbids. 



THE RESOLVE UF REGULUS. 195 

Auf. I court 
The worst thy sword can do ; while thou from me 
Hast nothing to expect but sore destruction. 
Quit, then, this hostile camp : once more I tell thee, 
Thou art not here one single hour in safety. 

[Cor, that I had thee in the field, 
With six Aufidiuses, or more — thy tribe ! — 
To use my lawful sword !] 



IV —THE RESOLVE OF REGULUS. 

Reg'ulus, a Roman consul, haying been defeated in battle and taken prisoner 
by the Carthaginians, was detained in captivity five years, and then sent on 
an embassy to Rome to solicit peace, under a promise that he would return to 
Carthage if the proposals were rejected. These, it was thought, he would 
urge in order to obtain his own liberty ; but he urged contrary and patriotic 
measures on his countrymen ; and then, having carried his point, resisted 
the persuasions of his friends to remain in Rome, and returned to Carthage, 
where a martyr^s death awaited him. Some writers say that he was thrust 
into a cask covered over on the inside with iron spikes, and thus rolled down 
hill. The following scene presents Regulus just as he has made known to 
his friends in Rome his resolution to return to Carthage, 

L Enter EEGULUS, followed by SERTORIUS. ' 

Sertorius. Stay, Roman, in pity ! — if not for thy life, 
For the sake of thy country, thy children, thy wife. 
Sent, not to urge war, but to lead Rome to peace, 
Thy captors of Carthage vouchsafed thee release. 
Thou return'st to encounter their anger, their rage ; — 
No mercy expect for thy fame or thy age ! 

Regulus, To my captors one pledge, and one only, I gave : 
To RETURN, though it were to walk into my grave ! 
No hope I extended, no promise I made, 
Rome's Senate and people from war to dissuade. 
If the vengeance of Carthage be stored for me now, 
I have reaped no dishonor, have broken no vow, 

Sert. They released thee, but dreamed not that thou wouldst 
fulfill 
A part that would leave thee a prisoner still ; 
They hoped thy own danger would lead thee to sway 
The councils of Rome a far different way ; 
Would induce thee to urge the conditions they crave, 
If only thy freedom, thy life-blood, to save. 
Thought shudders, the torment and woe to depict 
Thy merciless foes have the heart to inflict ! 
Remain with us, Reg'ulus ! do not go back ! 



196 THE STAGE. 

No hope sheds its ray on thy death-pointing track ! 
Keep faith with the faithless? The gods will forgive 
The balking of such. 0, live, Regains, live ! 

Reg, With the consciousness fixed in the core of my heart, 
That I had been playing the perjurer's part ? 
With the stain ever glaring, the thought ever nigh, 
That I owe the base breath I inhale to a lie ? 
0, never ! Let Carthage infract every oath, 
Be false to her word and humanity both. 
Yet never will I in her infamy share, 
Or turn for a refuge to guilt from despair ! 

Serf, 0, think of the kindred and friends who await 
To fall on thy neck, and withhold thee from fate; 
0, think of the widow, the orphans to be. 
And let thy compassion plead softly with me. 

Reg, 0, my friend, thou canst soften, but canst not subdue : 
To the faith of my soul I must ever be true. 
If my honor I cheapen, my conscience discrown, 
All the graces of life to the dust are brought down ; 
All creation to me is a chaos once more — 
No heaven to hope for, no God to adore ! 
And the love that I feel for wife, children, and friend, 
Has lost all its beauty, and thwarted its end. 

Serf. Let thy country determine. 

Reg, My country? Her will, 

Were I free to obey, would be paramount still. 
I go to my doom for my country alone ; 
My life is my country's ; my honor, my own ! 

Sert. 0, Regulus ! think of the pangs in reserve ! 

Reg. What menace should make me from probity swerve? 

Sert. Refinements of pain will these miscreants find 
To daunt and disable the loftiest mind. 

Reg. And 't is to a Roman thy fears are addressed ! 

Sert. Forgive me. I know thy unterrified breast. 

Reg, Thou know'st me but human — as weak to sustain 
xAlS thyself, or another, the searchings of pain. 
This flesh may recoil, and the anguish they wreak 
Chase the strength from my knees, and the hue from m}^ cheek ; 
But the body alone they can vanquish and kill; 
The spirit immortal shall smile at them still. 
Then let them make ready their engines of dread, 
Their spike-bristling cask, and tbeir torturing bed ; 
Still Regulus, heaving no recreant breath. 
Shall greet as a friend the deliverer Death ! 



ANTUXr AND VENTIDIUS. 19' 

Their cunning in torture and taunt shall defy, 

And hold it a joj for his country to die ! original. 



v.— ANTONY AND VENTIDIUS. 

Enter X^TO^Y^ 'Right, meeting VENTIDIUS, who enters Left. 

Antony. Art thou Yentidius ? 

Yentidius. Are you Antony ? 
I 'm iiker what I was, than you to hiru 
When that I left you last. 

Ant. I 'm angry. 

Yen, So am I. 

Ant. I would be private ; leave me. 

Yen, Sir, I iove you, 
And therefore will not leave you. 

Ant. Will not leave me ? 
Where have you learnt that answer ? Who am I ? 

Yen. My emperor ; the man I love next heaven. 
If I said more, I think 't were scarce a sin ; 
You 're all that 's good and noble. 

Ant. All that 's wretched ! 
You will not leave me, then ? 

Yen. 'T was too presuming 
To say I would not, but I dare not leave you ; 
And 't is unkind in you to chide me hence 
So soon, when I so far have come to see you. 

Ant. Now thou hast seen me, art. thou satisfied ? 
For, if a friend, thou hast beheld enough; 
And, if a foe, too rftuch. 

Yen, Look, emperor, this is no common dew ; 
I have not wept these forty years ; but now 
My mother comes afresh into my eyes ; 
I can not help her softness. 

Ant. Sure, there 's contagion in the tears of friends. 
See, I have caught it too. Believe me, 't is not 
For my own griefs, but thine. Nay, father 

Yen, Emperor ! 

Ant, Emperor ! Why, that 's the style of victory. 
The conquering soldier, red with unfelt wounds, 
Salutes his general so ; but never more 
Shall that sound reach my ears. I lost a battle. 

Yen. So has Julius done. 

^4??/. Thou favor'stme, and speak'.st not half thou think'st ; 
17. 



198 • THE STAGE. 

Eor Julius fought it out, and lost it fairly : 
But Antony 

Ven. Nay, stop not ! 

Ant, Antony — - 
(Well, tkou wilt have it) — like a coward, fled, — 
Eled while his soldiers fought ; fled first, Yentidius. 
Thou long'st to curse me, and I give thee leave. 
I know thou cam'st prepared to rail. 

Ven, I did. 

Ant, I 'il help thee. I have been a man, Yentidius. 

Ve?i, Yes, and a brave one ; but 

Ant, I know thy meaning. 
But I have lost my reason, have disgraced 
The name of soldier with inglorious ease. 
In the full vintage of my flowing honors 
Sat still, and saw it pressed by other hands. 
Fortune came smiling to my youth, and wooed it ; 
And purple greatness met my ripened years. 

Ven, You are too sensible already 
Of what you Ve done, too conscious of your failings ; 
And, like a scorpion, whipped by others first 
To fury, sting yourself in mad revenge. 

Ant, Dost thou think me desperate 
Without just cause ? No ; when I found all lost 
Beyond repair, I hid me from the world. 
And learned to scorn it here ; which now I do 
So heartily, I think it is not worth 
The cost of keeping. 

Ven, Caesar thinks not so. 
He '11 thank you for the gift he could not take. 
You would be killed like Tully, would you ? Why, then, 
Hold out your throat to Csesar, and die tamely. 

Arit, No, I can kill myself; and so resolve. 

Ven, I can die with you too, when time shall serve ; 
But fortune calls upon us now to live. 
To fight, to conquer. 

A7it, Sure thou dream'st, Yentidius. 

Veil, No ; 't is you dream ; you sleep away your hours 
In desperate sloth, miscalled philosophy. 
Up, up, for honor's sake ! Twelve legions wait you, 
And long to call you chief. 

Ant, Y/here left you them ? 

Ven, 1 say, in Lower Syria. 

A?it, Brinoj 'em hither ; 
There may be life in these. 



ANTONY AND VENTIDIUS. 199 

Yen. They will not come. 

Ant, Why didst thou mock my hopes with promised aids, 
To double my despair ? They 're mutinous. 

Ve7i, Most firm and loyal. 

Ant, Why did they refuse to march ? 

Ven, They said they would not fight for Cleopatra. 

Ant, What was 't they said ? 

Ven, They said they would not fight for Cleopatra. 
Why should they fight, indeed, to make her conquer, 
And make you more a slave ? 

Ant. You grow presumptuous. 

Yen. I take the privilege of plain love to speak. 

Ant. Plain love ! Plain arrogance, plain insolence ! 
Thy men arc cowards ; thou an envious traitor. 
0, that thou wert my equal, — great in arms 
As the first Csesar was, — that I might kill thee 
Without stain to my honor i 

Yen. You may kill me. 
You have done more already — called me traitor. 

Ant, Art thou not one ? 

Ye7i. For showing you yourself, 
Which none else durst have done ? But had I been 
That name, which I disdain to speak again, 
I needed not have sought your abject fortunes, 
Come to partake your fate, to die with you. 
What hindered me to have led my conquering eagles 
To fill Octavius' bands ? I could have been 
A traitor then, — a glorious, happy traitor ; 
And not have been so called. 

A7it, Forgive me, soldier ; 
I 've been too passionate. 

Yen. You thought me false ; 
Thought my old age betrayed you. Kill me, sir ! 
Pray, kill me ! Yet you need not ; your unkindness 
Has left your sword no work. 

Ant, I did not think so ; 
I said it in my rage. Pr'ythee, forgive me. 

{They shake hands.] 
Thou shalt behold me once again in iron ; 
And, at the head of our old troops, that beat 
The Parthians, cry aloud. Come, follow me ! 

Yen. 0, now I hear my emperor ! In that word 
Octavius fell. 

A7it, 0, thou hast fired me ! My soul 's up in arms. 



200 THE STAGE. 

And mans each part about me. Once again 
The nobleness of fight has seized me. 
Come on, my soldier ! 

Our hearts and arms are still the same. I long 
Once more to meet our foes, that thou and I, 
Like Time and Death, marching before our troops, 
May drag fate on with us, mow out a passage, 
And, entering where the utmost squadrons yield, 
Begin the noble harvest of the field. 

DRYDEN (altered.) 



VI. — THE GAMBLER'S SON. 

ORIGINAL TRANSLATION. 

M. de Ferrieres (pronounced Ferryair), after years of extreme poverty, has 
risen suddenly to opulence. His son, George, returns home from sea, and 
questions his father as to the source of his wealth. The father evades his 
inquiries. George follows him to the gaming-table, sees him play with 
M. Dubourg, and win all his money, and satisfies himself that his father 
cheated at cards. He stands overwhelmed, and, in the following scene, 
intimates to his father what he has discovered. If convenient, there should 
be a table on the stage, with a pack of cards on it, an^ a chair on either 
side of the table. 

Enter M. DE F. first. Left; then GEORGE, Right. 

M. de Ferrieres. What would you, GFeorge ? 

George. (Aside.) How shall I broach it ? 

M. de F. You tremble, my son ! What's the matter? 

George. [Looking around kzm.) No one can enter ? Are we 
sure of that ? 

M. de F. Why all these precautions ? 

George. {With much emotion.) Bid Dubourg lose all — all — 
at cards ? Did you win his all ? 

M. de F. The luck went against him. 

George. (Mustering courage.) But that money — you will 
give it back to him ? 

M. de F, How ? 

George. You will give it back to him — will you not ? 

M. de F. Are you mad ? 

George. ! keep it not, my father ! Keep it not ! Dubourg 
is a merchant. He must have that money in order to meet his 
engagements. Without it he is ruined. (Jive it him back. It 
is all I ask. 

M. de F. (Looking at him ivith surprise.) 1 do not under- 
stand you. 

George. (Aside.) Yes, it is my duty ! (Aloud.) You must 
renounce all that you won from Dubourg ; absolutely, you must. 



THE gambler's SON. 201 

M. de F. The more I look at jou, the more am I astonished. 
Are you in your senses, George ? This paleness — these convul- 
sive movements — What has happened to you ? 

George. I am very wretched ! 

M. de JP. Are you suffering ? 

George. More than I can tell. 

M, de F, You alarm me ! What profound despair ! Speak, 
George ! 

George, I shall never be able — 

M, de F, It is I who beseech you — I, your father. 

George, (Recoiling,) My father ! 

M, de F, You repel me, my son. 

George, 0, misery ! 

M, de F. Have I ever failed in a father's love and care ? From 
your youth upwards have you not found me your best friend ? 

George, Ah, yes ! I have not forgotten the days of my 
childhood. Often do I remember me of the lessons you used to 
instill when we dwelt in our humble hut. Every principle of 
honor and of vg^ue — it is from you that I have received it ; 
and nothing is forgotten. 

M, de F. You know it; yon were the object of my tender- 
ness ; all my hopes reposed on you. 

George, Yes ! You would say to me in those days, " My * 
son, whatever may be your fate, remember that he is never with- 
out consolation who keeps his conscience pure ! " You said it, 
my father, and I remember it well. 

M, de F, George, that state of destitution and wretchedness, 
to which I had reduced you and your mother, — how did I 
reproach myself with it ! That horrible poverty — that absolute 
want — what torture ! And what regrets did I experience 
because of you, whose heritage I had so foolishly dissipated ! 

George, Did I ever utter a complaint ? Did I ever reproach 
you with our misfortunes — our poverty ? Have I not alwaj^s 
cherished, respected, served you ? 

M, de F, Yes, George is a good son ; he is no ingrate ; he 
will not heedlessly wound a father's heart. 

George, No, no ! Only one boon. 

M, de F, Speak, my son. 

George, That money of Dubourg's — 

M, de F, [Angrily.) Again you recur to it ! 

George, Do you not remember those words which you added 
to your lessons ? " All that now remains to us, my son, is honor ! " 

M, de F, Doubtless. But how wretched, George, had you 
been without this change of fortune which time has brought ! 



202 THE STAGE. 

George, This fortune — its source ? Tell me wheDce jou — 

M, de F, (Interrupting him.) Never could you have pre- 
sumed to marry her you love ; never would a career have been 
opened to you ; you would have had no means of exercising your 
talents, no resources ! You do not realize the humiliation which 
poverty brings with it in an age like ours, where favor and con- 
sideration are measured according to the amount of gold one 
has ; where the virtues are repulsed, merit disdained, talent 
ignored, unless intrigue or fortune open the way. With gold 
one has every thing- — without it, nothing. 

George. (Aside.) All is now explained. (Aloud.) Ah, well ! 
my choice is made : indigence and probity. 

M. de F. Indigence — the return of all those sufferings you 
once experienced ? Can aught be worse ? 

George. Yes — dishonor. 

M. de F. (Aside.) I tremble. (Aloud.) What would you 
say? 

George, That there is no wretchedness equal to mine, sir ! 

M. de F. " Sir ? " (He gives his hand to his^n, who takes it 
with a disordered air.) 

George. Hear me. Can you imagine all which that man 
suffers who sees in a single day the overthrow of all that he 
believed in — the destruction of what he had regarded, up to that 
moment, as the summit of his hopes and affections ; who sees the 
past rendered hateful, the future desperate, since he can trust no 
longer in all that he had adored and respected ? Love, honor, 
ye sole blessings which make life precious, ye are gone — gone 
for ever ! 

M. de F, George ! 

George. Do you comprehend, sir, this misfortune without con- 
solation ? A son who cherished, who revered his father, who 
bore with pride an honorable name — ah, well ! this son — he 
must now blush for evermore, and repulse that man whom he had 
learned to venerate and love. 

M. de F. Gracious powers ! 

George. Aj, sir ; for he knows all. 

M. de F. What knows he ? 

George. He knows that yonder, at that table, an old friend 
was ruined by him. 

M. de F. And if hazard did it all ? 

George. No, sir, no ; that old friend was deceived — was 
swindled. 

M. de F. Swindled ? George ! You believe it ? 

George. Ah ! 't is that belief is the burthen of my woe ! 



THE GAjMBLER'S sok, 203 

M, de F. And if it were not true ? 

George. [Producing a pack of cards.) That pack of cards — 

M. de F. What of them? 

George. They are — they are — 0, shame I I can not say it ! 

M. de F. Ah ! you know not what real misery is. 

George. I know what honor is, and I will not permit — 

M. de F. Would you ruin me ? 

George. Shall I let you dishonor me ? 0,1 have no longer 
a father ! The name he gave me, here I give him back. I am 
but an orphan, without a home, without means ; but still — still, 
sir, I have a conscience left, and what that dictates I will obey 
to the death ! Farewell ! 

M. de F. What would you, unhappy boy ? Is it not enough 
that I am humbled thus ? — that you see me blush and tremble 
before you — before my son ? What would you more ? Gro ! I 
fear you not ! [He produces a pistol.) I fear nothing ! 

George. [Placing himself before him.) I, too, sir, am without 
fear ; and to me life is hateful. 

M. de F. '^flaat sayest thou ? Be mine alone the — 

George. [ Wresting the pistol from him.) My father ! 

M. de F. I am no longer thy father. 

George. [Rushing to his arms.) Yes, yes ! You are my 
father still. 

M. de F. 0, anguish insupportable ! 

George. All may be repaired. Go where you will, your son 
will follow. This city — we must quit it. This money — it 
must be restored — must be restored, I say. Happiness shall 
yet be ours. Do not hesitate, my father ! 

M. de F. Think you I have never anticipated a situation like 
this ? But fate has driven me on. 

George. What would you say ? 

M. de F. In our old house, beneath that humble roof where 
I suffered so much, my passion for play, that deadly passion 
which had devoured my substance, was not quite extinct. I 
sought in secret to satisfy it ; often, to find the opportunity, I 
had to have recourse to men of the lowest o;rade, to vao-abonds 
and ignoble gamblers. Yes, George, yes — I, the Count de Fer- 
rieres — I, your father, played with such ! They taught me terri- 
ble secrets. And yet I did not think to make use of them. But 
I returned one day to Paris, and there tried my fortune. It 
proved favorable. Considerable sums successively came to rean- 
imate my hopes. I still was guiltless. But no, no ! my heart 
was no longer so. The greed of gold had filled it wholly. Am- 
bition, vanity, the need of luxury, all contributed to my infatua- 



204 THE STAGE. 

tion. One day — hear me — one day I lost. Your mother had 
just come to occupy this hotel which I had prepared for her ; 
already the story, adroitly spread, had given our neighbors the 
idea that I was rich. Well, I lost. Must I, then, always be 
the fool of fortune ? I had felt the pangs of poverty ; I had 
seen her suffer whom I loved ; I had seen two children, thy 
brothers, pushed by misery into the tomb ; friends, society, rank, 
all had then disappeared. And must there now be a repetition 
of all these woes ? No, no ! cried I ; it must not be. It is too 
much. I can no longer be a loser ; and a loser I was no longer ! 

George, Ah ! the fatal, fatal step ! But, come ! We must 
retrace it. You will make restitution of all you have won 
unfairly ; you will do it, my father ? 

M, de F. Ay, call me father, and do with me what you will. 

George. It is bravely said. Come on ! Know'st thou where 
I shall guide thee ? Back, back to poverty and — honor, my 
father ! 

M, de F, Lead on ! original translation. 



VIL— SIR EDWARD MORTIMER AND WILFORD. 

JiJnter first SIR E., Left; then WILFORD, Right. 

Sir Edward, Wilford, is no one in the picture-gallery ? 

Wilford, No — not a soul, sir — not a human soul ; 
None within hearing, if I were to bawl 
Ever so loud. 

Sir E, Wilford, approach me. — What am I to say 
For aiming at your life ? Do you not scorn me, 
Despise me for it? 

Wil, I!_0, sir. 

Sir E, You must ; 
For I am singled from the herd of men, 
A vile, heart-broken wretch ! 

Wil. Indeed, indeed, sir. 
You deeply wrong yourself. — Your equal's love. 
The poor man's prayer, the orphan's tear of gratitude, 
All follow you ; and I — I owe you all, — 
I am most bound to bless you ! 

Sir E. Mark me, Wilford. — 
I know the value of the orphan's tear. 
The poor man's prayer, respect from the respected ; 
I feel to merit these, and to obtain them, 



SIR EDWARD MORTIMER AND WILFORD. 205 

Is to taste here below that thrilling cordial, 

Which the remunerating angel draws 

From the eternal fountain of delight, 

To pour on blessed souls that enter heaven. 

I feel this — I ! How must my nature, then, 

Revolt at him who seeks to stain his hand 

In human blood ! And yet, it seems, this day 

I sought your life. 0, I have suifered madness ! 

None know my tortures — pangs ; but I can end them, — 

End them as far as appertains to thee. 

I have resolved it : fearful struggles tear me ; 

But I have pondered on't, and I must trust thee. 

Wil, Your confidence shall not be — 

Sir E, You must swear. 

Wil, Swear, sir ! Will nothing but an oath, 'then — 

Sir E, No retreating. 

Wil, [After a pause.) I swear, by all the ties that bind a man, 
Divine or human, never to divulge ! 

Sir E. Remember, you have sought this secret, — yes. 
Extorted it. — I have not thrust it on you. 
'Tis big with danger to you; and to me. 
While I prepare to speak, torment unutterable. 
Know, Wilford, that — 

WiL Dearest sir. 
Collect yourself; this shakes you horribly. — ■ 
You had this trembling, it is scarce a week. 
At Madam Helen's. 

Sir E, There it is. Her uncle — 

Wil, Her uncle ! 

Sir E, Him — - she knows it hot, — none know it : 
You are the first ordained to hear me say, 
I am - — his murderer ! 

WiL 0, heaven! 

Sir E. His assassin ! 

Wil. What ! You that — mur — the murder — I am choked ! 

Sir E. Honor — thou blood-stained god ! ^ at whose red altar 
Sit war and homicide, ! to what madness 
Will insult drive thy votaries ! Heaven bear witness ! 
In the world's range there does not breathe a man. 
Whose brutal nature I more strove to soothe, 
With long forbearance, kindness, courtesy, 
Than his who fell by me. — But he disgraced me, 
Stained me! — 0, death and shame ! the world looked on 
And saw this sinewy savage strike me down ; 
18 



206 THE STAGE. 

Kain blows upon me, drag me to and fro 
On the base earth, like carrion. — Desperation, 
In every fiber of my frame, cried Vengeance ! 
I left the room which he had quitted. Chance 
(Curse on the chance !), while boiling with my wrongs. 
Thrust me against him, darkling, in the street. — 
I stabbed him to the heart ; and my oppressor 
Kolled lifeless at my foot! [Crosses to R.) 

WiL (L.) 0, mercy on me ! 
How could this deed be covered ? 

Sir E. Would you think it? — 
E'en at the moment when I gave the blow, 
Butchered a fellow-creature in the dark, 
I had all good men's love. — But my disgrace, 
And my opponent's death thus linked v/ith it. 
Demanded notice of the magistracy. 
They summoned me, as friend would summon friend, 
To acts of import and communication. — 
We met ; and 'twas resolved, to stiiie rumor. 
To put me on my trial. No accuser, 
No evidence appeared, to urge it on ; 
'Twas meant to clear my fame. How clear it, then? 
How cover it ? you say. — Why, by a lie, — 
Gruilt's offspring and its guard ! I taught this breast, 
Which truth once made her throne, to forge a lie, — 
This tongue to utter it ; rounded a tale, 
Smooth as a seraph's song from Satan's mouth ; 
So well compacted, that the o'er-thronged court 
Disturbed cool justice in her judgment-seat, 
By shouting " Innocence ! " ere I had finished. — 
The court enlarged me ; and the giddy rabble 
Bore me in triumph home. — Ay, look upon me ! 
I know thy sight aches at me. 

WiL Heaven forgive you ! 
It may be wrong : indeed, I pity you. 

Sir E. I disdain all pity. 
I ask no consolation ! Idle boy ! 
Thinkst thou that this compulsive confidence 
Was given to move thy pity ? Love of fame 
(For still I cling to it) has urged me thus 
To quash the curious mischief in its birth ; 
Hurt honor, in an evil, cursed hour. 
Drove me to murder, — lying ; — 't would again ! 
My honesty — sweet peace of mind — all, all 



SIR EDWARD MORTIMER AND WILFORD. 20T 

Are bartered for a name. — I will maintain it ! 

Should slander whisper o'er my sepulcher, 

And my soul's agency survive in death, 

I could embody it with heaven's lightning, 

And the hot shaft of my insulted spirit 

Should strike the blaster of my memory 

Dead in the church-yard ! Boy, I would not kill thee : 

Thy rashness and discernment threatened danger ; 

To check them, there was no way left but this, 

Save one — your death. You shall not be my victim. 

Wil. My death 1 — What ! take my life — my life, to prop 
This empty honor ! 

Si?' E. Empty ! — Groveling fool 1 {Crosses to L.) 

WU. {R.) I am your servant, sir, child of your bounty, 
And know my obligation. — I have been 
Too curious haply, — 'Tis the fault of youth ; 
I ne'er meant injury. — If it would serve you, 
I would lay down my life — I 'd give it freely. 
Could you, then, have the heart to rob me of it ? 
You could not — should not. 

Sir _E. How ! 

Wil, You dare not. 

Sir E. Dare not ! 

Wil. Some hours ago you durst not. Passion moved you ; 
Eeflection interposed, and held your arm. 
But, should reflection prompt you to attempt it, 
My innocence would give me strength to struggle. 
And wrest the murderous weapon from your hand. 
How would you look to find a peasant boy 
Return the knife you leveled at his heart. 
And ask you which in heaven would show the best, — 
A rich man's honor, or a poor man's honesty ? 

Sir E. 'T is plain 1 dare not take your life. — To spare- it, 
I have endangered mine. — But dread my power : 
You know not its extent. — Be warned in time ; 
Trifle not with my feelings. — Listen, sir : 
Myriads of engines, which my secret working 
Can rouse to action, now encircle you. 
Your ruin hangs upon a thread ; provoke me. 
And it shall fall upon you. Dare to make 
The slightest movement to awake my fears. 
And the gaunt criminal, naked and stake-tied, 
Left on the heath to^blister in the sun. 
Till lingering death shall end his agony. 



208 THE STAGE. 

Compared to thee, shall seem more enviable 
Than cherubs to the cursed! 

WtL 0, misery! 
Discard me, sir ; I must be hateful to you. 
Banish me hence ' I will be mute as death ; 
But let me cjuit your service. 

Sir E. Never ! Fool ! 
To buy this secret, you have sold yourself, — 
Your movements, eyes, and most of all your breath, 
From this time forth, are fettered to my will. 

COLMAN, 



VIII . — HOTSPUR. 

Enter KING HENRY, L., followed by HOTSPUR. 

K, Henry. Why, yet you do deny your prisoners, 
Unless at our own charge we ransom straight 
Your brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer ! 
No ; on the barren mountains let him starve ! 
For I shall never hold that man my friend, 
Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost 
To ransom home revolted Mortimer, 

Hotspur. Revolted Mortimer ! 
He never did fall off, my sovereign liege, 
But by the chance of war. 
Then let him not be slandered with revolt. 

K. Hen. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him. 
Art thou not ashamed ? But, sirrah, henceforth 
Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer. 
Send me your prisoners with the speediest means, 
Or you shall hear in such a kind from me 
As will displease you. [Exit King Henry, R.) 

Hot. (R.) And if the devil come and roar for them, 
I will not send them. I will after straight. 
And tell him so ; for I will ease my heart, 
Although it be with hazard of my head. 

Enter WORCESTER, L. 

Worcester. What ! drunk with choler ? 

Hot. Speak of Mortimer? 
Zounds, I will speak of him ; and let my soul 
Want mercy, if I do not join with him ! 
In his behalf, I '11 empty all these veins. 
And shed my dear blood drop by drop in the dust. 



HOTSPUR. 209 

But I will lift the down- trod Mortimer 

As high in the air as this unthankful king — 

As this ingrate and cankered Bolingbroke ! [Crosses L.) 

Wor. {K) Who struck this heat up? 

Hot, He will, forsooth, have all mj prisoners ; 
And when I urged the ransom once again 
Of my wife's brother, then his cheek looked pale ; 
And on mj face he turned an eye of death, 
Trembling even at the name of Mortimer. {Crosses R.) 
Therefore, I say 

Wor, (L.) Peace, cousin, say no more : 
And now I will unclasp a secret book, 
And to your quick-conceiving discontents 
I '11 read you matter deep and dangerous ; 
As full of peril and adventurous spirit 
As to o'er-walk a current, roaring loud. 
On the unsteadfast footing of a spear. 

Hot. If he fall in, good-night ! — or sink or swim, — 
Send Danger from the east unto the west. 
So Honor cross it from the north to south, 
And let them grapple : — ! the blood more stirs 
To rouse a lion, than to start a hare. 

Wor, [Aside.) Imagination of some great ex-ploit' 
Drives him beyond the bounds of patience. 

Hot, Grood heaven ! methinks it were an easy leap, 
To pluck bright Honor from the pale-faced moon ; 
Or dive into the bottom of the deep. 
Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, 
And pluck up drowned Honor by the locks ; 
So he that doth redeem her thence might wear, 
Without corrival, all her dignities. 
But out upon this half-faced fellowship ! 

Wor. (Aside.) He apprehends a world of figures here. 
But not the form of what he should attend. 
{Aloud.) Grood cousin, give me audience for a while. 

Hot, I cry you mercy. 

Wor, Those same noble Scots, 
That are your prisoners — 

Hot. I '11 keep them all ; [Crosses and recrosses.) 
He shall not have a Scot of them — not one : 
No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not : 
I '11 keep them, by this hand. 

Wor. You start away, 
18^ 



210 THE STAGE. 

And lend no ear unto my purposes. — 
Those prisoners you shall keep. 

Hot. Nay, I will ; that 's flat : — 
He said he would not ransom Mortimer ; 
Eorbade my tongue to speak of Mortimer ; 
Eut I will find him when he lies asleep, 

And in his ear I '11 holla Mortimer ! {Crosses and recrosses.) 

Nay, I '11 have a starling shall be taught to speak 
Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him, 
To keep his anger still in motion. 

Wor, Hear you, cousin, a word. 

Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy. 
Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke. 
And that same sword-and-buckler Prince of Wales, — 
But that I think his father loves him not, 
And would be glad he met with some mischance, 
I 'd have him poisoned with a pot of ale. 

Wor, Farewell, kinsman ! I will talk to you, 
When you are better tempered to attend. 
Why, what a wasp-tongued and impatient fool 
Art thou, to break into this woman's mood. 
Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own ! 

Hot. Why, look you, I am whipped and scourged with rods, 
Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear 
Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke ! 

In Bichard's time What do you call the place ? — 

A plague upon 't ! it is in Gloucestershire ; — 

'T was where the madcap duke his uncle kept — 

His uncle York ; — where I first bowed my knee 

Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke, 

'Sblood ! when you and he came back from Ravenspurg. 

Wor. At Berkley Castle. 

Hot. You say true. 
Why, what a candy deal of courtesy 
This fawning greyhound then did proffer me ! 
Look, — " when his infant fortune came to age," 
And, — " gentle Harry Percy," — and, " kind cousin ! " — 
0, out upon such cozeners ! — Heaven forgive me ! — 
G-ood uncle, tell your tale, for I have done. 

Wor, Nay, if you have not, to 't again ; 
I '11 stay your leisure. 

Hot. I have done, in sooth. 

Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners. 
When time is ripe, which will be suddenly, 
I '11 steal to Qlondower and Lord Moriluicr, 



SPARTACUS AND JOVIUS. 211 

Where you and Douglas, and our powers at once 
(As I will fashion it), shall happily meet, 
To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms. 

Hot, Uncle, adieu. let the hours be short, 
Till fields, and blows, and groans, applaud our sport ! 

SHAKSPEARE {altered). 



IX. — SPARTACUS AND JOVIUS. 

Enter SPARTACUS, L., JOVIUS, R. 

Spartaciis. Speak, Roman ! wherefore does thy master send 
Thy gray hairs to the " cut-throat's " camp ? 

Jovius, Brave rebel — ' 

Spart. Why, that 's a better name than rogue or bondman ; 

But in this camp I am called General. -^ 1 

Jov. Brave G-eneral, — for, though a rogue and bondman, i 

As you have said, I '11 still allow you General, ! 

As he that beats a consul surely is. j 

Spart. Say two — two consuls ; and to that e'en add i 
A proconsul, three prastors, and some generals. 

Jov. Why, this is no more than true. Are you a Thracian ? \ 

Spart. Ay. j 

Jov. There is something in the air of Thrace I 

Breeds valor up as rank as grass. 'T is pity I 

You are a barbarian. ; 

Spart. Wherefore ? ■; 

Jov. Had you been born \ 
A Boman, you had won by this a triumph. 

Spart. I thank the gods I am barbarian ; ; 

For I can better teach the grace-begot ; 

And heaven-supported masters of the earth i 

How a mere dweller of a desert rock ] 

Can bow their crowned heads to his chariot-wheels, j 

Their regal necks to be his stepping-blocks. i 
But come, what is thy message ? 

Jov. Julia, niece 

Of the prgstor, is thy captive. i 

Spart. Ay. j 

Jov. For whom | 
Is offered in exchange thy wife, Senona, 

And thy young boy. \ 

Spart. Tell thou the praetor, Roman, i 
The Thracian 's wife is ransomed. 

Jov. How is that ? 



212 THE STAGE. 

Spart. R-ansomed, and bj tlie steel, from out the camp 
Of slaughtered Grellius ! {Pointing off.) Behold them, Iloman ! 

Jov, [Looking as Spart. points,) This is sorcery ! 
But name a ransom for the general's niece. 

spart. Have I not now tho, praetor on the hip ? 
He would, in his extremity, have made 
My wife his buckler of defence ; perhaps 
Have doomed her to the scourge ! But this is Boman. 
Now the barbarian is instructed. Look ! 
I hold the prsetor by the heart ; and he 
Shall feel how tightly grip barbarian fingers. 

Jov. Men do not v\'-ar on women. Nam.e her ransoiu. 

Spart. Men do not war on women ! Look you : 
One day I climbed up to the ridgy top 
Of the cloud-piercing Hsemus, where, among 
The eagles and the thunders, from that height, 
I looked upon the world, as far as where, 
Wrestling with storms, the gloomy Euxine chafed 
On his recoiling shores ; and where dim Adria 
In her blue bosom quenched the fiery sphere. 
Between those surges lay a land, might once 
Have matched Elysium ; but Borne had made it 
A Tar'tarus. Li my green youth I looked 
From the same frosty peak where now I stood, 
And then beheld the glory of those lands. 
Where Peace was tinkling on the shepherd's bell 
And singing with the reapers. 

Since that glad day, Bome's conquerors had passed 
With withering armies there, and all was changed. 
Peace had departed ; howling War was there. 
Cheered on by Boman hunters. Then, methought, 
E'en as I looked upon the altered scene. 
Groans echoed through the valleys, through which ran 
Bivers of blood, like smoking Phleg'ethons ; 
Fires flashed from burning villages, and Famine 
Shrieked in the empty corn-fields ! Women and children. 
Bobbed of their sires and husbands, left to starve — 
These were the dwellers of the land ! Say'st thou 
Bome wars not, then, on women ? 

Jov. This is not to the matter. 

Spart. Now, by Jove, 
It is ! These things do Bomans. But the earth 
Is sick of conquerors. There is not a man, 
Not Ptoman, but is Bome's extremest foe : 



THE SIEGE OF GHENT. 213 

And such am I ; sworn from that hour I saw 
Those sights of horror, while the gods support me, 
To wreak on Rome such 'havoc as Rome wreaks, 
Carnage and devastation, woe and ruin. 
Why should I ransom, when I swear to slay ? 
Begone I This is my answer ! bird. 



X.— -THE SIEGE OF GHENT. 

Enter f.r St VAN DEN BOSCH, R.; then VAN ARTEVELDE, L, 

Vail den Bosch. What ho I Ym\ Artevelde. 

Artevelde, Who calls ? 

Bosch, 'Tisl. 
Thou art an early riser, like myself; 
Or is it that thou hast not been to bed ? 

Art, What are thy tidings ? 

Bosch. Nay, what can they be ? 
A page from pestilence and famine's day-book. 
So many to the pest-house carried in. 
So many to the dead-house carried out, — 
The same dull, dismal, horrible old story. 

Art. Be quiet ; listen to the westerly wind, 
And tell me if it brins's thee nothino; new. 

Bosch. {Listening. ) Naught to my ear, save howl of hungry dog 
That hears the house is stirring : nothing else. 

Art. No — now — I hear it not myself ; no — nothing. 
The city's hum is up ; but ere you came 
'T was audible enough. 

Bosch. In Heaven's name, what ? 

Art. A horseman's tramp upon the road from Bruges. 

Bosch. Why, then, be certain 'tis a flag of truce ! 
If once he reach the city, we are lost. ^^ 

Nay, if he be but seen, our danger 's great. 
What terms so bad they would not swallow now ? 
Let 's send some trusty varlets forth at once 
To cross his way. 

Art. And send him back to Bruges ? 

Bosch. Send him to — heaven — and that 's a better place. 

Art. Nay, softly, Yan Den Bosch ; let war be war, 
But let us keep its ordinances. 

Bosch. Tush! 
I say, but let them see him from afar, 



214 THE STAGE. 

And in an hour shall we, bound hand and foot, ^ 
Be on our way to Bruges."^' 

Art, Not so, not so. 
My rule of governance has not been such 
As e'er to issue in so foul a close. 

Bosch, What matter by what rule thou mayst have governed ? 
Think'st thou a hundred thousand citizens 
Shall stay the fury of their empty maws 
Because thou 'st ruled them justly ? 

Art, It may be 
That such a hope is mine. 

Bosch, Then thou art mad, 
And I must take this matter on myself. (^Crosses L.) 

Art, (R.) Hold, Van den Bosch ! I say this shall not be. 
I must be madder than I think I am 
Ere I shall yield up my authority, 
Which I abuse not, to be used by thee. 

Bosch. This comes of lifting dreamers into power ! 
I tell thee, in this strait and stress of famine, 
The people, but to pave the way for peace, 
Would instantly dispatch our heads to Bruges. 
Once and again I warn thee that thy life 
Hangs by a thread. 

Art, Why, know I not it does ? 
What hath it hung by else since Utas' eve ? 
Did I not, by mine own advised choice, 
Place it in jeopardy for certain ends? 
And what were these ? — To prop thy tottering state ? 
To float thee o'er a reef, and, that performed, 
To cater for our joint security? 
No, verily ; not such my high ambition ! 
I bent my thoughts on yonder city's weal ; 
I looked to give it victory and freedom ; 
And, working to that end, by consequence, 
Erom one great peril did deliver thee, 
Not for the love of thee or of thy life, 
Which I regard not, but the city's service ; 
And if, for that same service, it seem good, 
I will expose thy life to equal hazard. 

Bosch. Thou wilt? 

Art. I will. 

Bosch. Truly ! to hear him speak ! 
What a most mighty emperor of puppets 

* Pronounce Broozh. Pronounce Bosch, Bosk, 



THE SIEGE OF GHENT. 215 

Is this that I have brought upon the board ! 
But how if he that made it should unmake ? 

Art, Unto His sovereignty who truly made me 
With infinite humility I bow ! 
Both, both of us are puppets, Yan den Bosch ; 
Part of the curious clock-work of this world ; 
We scold, and squeak, and crack each other's crowns ; 
And if, from twitches moved by wires we see not, 
I were to toss thee from this steeple's top, ^ 

I should be but the instrument — no more — 
The tool of that chastising Providence 
Which doth exalt the lowly, and abase 
The violent and proud. But let me hope 
Such is not mine appointed task to-day. 
Thou passest in the world for worldly-wise. 
Then, seeing we must sink or swim together, 
What can it profit thee, in this extreme 
Of our distress, to wrangle v.ith me thus 
For my supremacy and rule ? Thy fate, 
As of necessity bound up with mine, 
Must needs partake my cares. Let that suffice 
To put thy pride to rest till better times. 

Bosch, Tush, tush ! Yan Artevelde ; thou talk'st and talk'st, 
And honest burghers think it wondrous fine ; 
But thou mightst easi'lier, with that tongue of thine, 
Persuade yon smoke to fly i' the face o' the Avind, 
Than talk away my wit and understanding. 
I say yon herald shall not enter here. 

Art. I know, sir, — no man better, — where my talk 
Is serviceable singly, where it needs 
To be by acts enforced. I say, beware. 
And brave not mine authority too far. 

Bosch. Hast thou authority to take ni}^ life ? 
What is- it else to let yon herald in 
To bargain for our blood ? 

Art, Thy life again ! ^ 
Why, what a very slave of life art thou I 
Look round about on this once populous town ; 
Not one of these innumerous house-tops 
But hides some spectral form of misery, 
Some peevish, pining child, and moaning mother, 
Some aged man that in his dotage scolds. 
Not knowing why he hungers ; some cold corse 
That lies unstraightened where the spirit left it. 



216 THE STAGE. 

Look round, and answer what thy life can be 

To teli upon the balance of such scales. 

I too would live — I have a love for life — 

But rather than to live to charge my soul 

With one hour's lengthening out of woes like these, 

I 'd leap this parapet with as free a bound 

As e'er was school-boy's o'er a garden wall. 

Bosch, I 'd like to see thee do it. 

Art, I know thou wouldst. 
But for the present be content to see 
My less precipitate descent ; for, lo ! 
There comes the herald o'er the hill ! {Exit, R.) 

Bosch. Beshrew thee ! 
Thou shalt not have the start of me in this. 
(Calls.) Van Artevelde ! 
What ho ! Beware ! Beware, I say ! {Follows hastily.) 

HENRY TAYLOR. 



XL — SYLVESTER DAGGERWOOD. 

FUSTIAN and DAGGERWOOD discovered ; FUSTIAN sittiricj in one chair, DAG- 
GER WOOD asleep in another. The clock strikes eleven. 

Fustian. Eight, nine, ten, eleven ? Zounds ! eleven o'clock, 
and here I have been waiting ever since nine for an interview 
with the manager. {A servant crosses.) Hark ye, young man, 
is your master visible yet ? 

Servant. Sir ? 

Fus. I say, can I see your master ? 

Serv. He has two gentlemen with him at present, sir. 

Fus. Ay, the old answer ! Who is this asleep here in the 
chair ? 

Serv. 0, that, sir, is a gentleman who wants to come out. 

Fus. Gome out ! then wake him, and open the door. Upon 
my word, the greatest difficulty in this house is to get in. 

Serv. Ha, ha ! I mean he wants to appear on the stage, sir : 
'tis Mr. Sylvester Daggerwood, of the Dunstable company. 

Fus. ho ! a country candidate for a London truncheon — a 
sucking Prince of Denmark, He snores like a tinker : fatigued 
with his journey, I suppose. 

Serv. No, sir. He has taken a nap in this room for these 
five mornings, but has not been able to obtain an audience here 
yet. 

Fus. No, nor at Dunstable, neither, I take it. 



SYLVESTER DAGaERWOOD. 21T 

Serv, I am so loth to disturb him, poor gentleman, that I 
never wake him till a full half-hour after mj master is gone out. 

Ftis, Upon my honor, that 's very obliging ! I must keep 

watch here, I find, like a lynx. Well, friend , you '11 let 

your master know Mr, Fustian is here, when the two gentlemen 
have left him at leisure. 

Serv, The moment they make their exit. [Exit.) 

Fus, Make their exit ! This fellow must have lived here 
some time, by his language, and 1 11 warrant him lies by rote, 
like a parrot. (Sits down and pulls out a manuscripts) If I 
could nail this manager for a minute, I 'd read him such a 
tragedy ! 

Baggerwood, [Breaming,) Nay, and thou 'It mouth — I'll 
rant as well as thou. 

Fus. Eh ! he 's talking in his sleep ! Acting Hamlet before 
twelve tallow candles in the country. 

Ba.g. "To be, or not to be" . , . 

Fus. Yes, he 's at it : let me see, ( Turning over the leaves 
of his play,) I think there 's no doubt of its running. 

Bag, (Breami7ig>) " That 's the question " . . . " who would 
fardels bear" . . . 

Fus. Zounds ! There 's no bearing you ! — His grace's patron- 
age will fill half the boxes, and I '11 v/arrant we '11 stuff the critics 
in the pit. 

Bag, {Breavmig .) " To groan and sweat. 

When he himself might his quietus make," 

Fus. Quietus ! I wish, with all my heart, I could make yours. 
— The Countess of Crambo insists on the best places for the first 
night of performance : she '11 sit in the stage-box. 

Bag, {Still dreaming.) " With a bare bodkin ! " 

Fus. 0, the deuce, there 's no enduring this ! Sir, sir, do you 
intend to sleep any more ? 

Bag, {Waking,) Eh! what? when? 
Methought I heard a voice say, " Sleep no more ! " 

Fus, Faith, sir, you have heard something very like it ; that 
voice was mine. {They rise.) 

Bag, Sir, I am your servant to command, Sylvester Dagger- 
wood, whose benefit is fixed for the eleventh of June, by particu- 
lar desire of several persons of distinction. You 'd make an 
excellent Macbeth, sir. 

Fus. Sir ! 

Bag, Macbeth doth murder sleep, the innocent sleep, balm of 
hurt minds, great nature's second course — nay, and sometimes 
19 



218 THE STAGE. 

Ker first course, too — when a dinner is unavoidably deferred, by 
your humble servant, Sylvester Daggerwood. 

Fus, I am very sorry, sir, you should ever have occasion to 
postpone so pleasant a performance. 

Dag, Eating, sir, is a most popular entertainment, for man 
and horse, as I may say ; but I am apt to appear nice, sir ; and, 
somehow or other, I never could manage to sit down to dinner in 
bad company. 

Fus. Has your company been bad, then, of late, sir ? 

Dag, Very bad, indeed, sir — the Dunstable company, where 
I have eight shillings a week, four bits of candle, one wife, three 
shirts, and nine children. 

Fus. A very numerous family. 

Dag, A crowded house, to be sure, sir, but not very profitable. 
Mrs. Daggerwood, a fine figure, but, unfortunately, stutters, so 
of no use in the theatrical line ; children too young to make a 
debut, except my eldest. Master Apollo Daggerwood, a youth 
only eight years old, who has twice made his appearance in Tom 
Thumb, to an overflovv^ing and brilliant barn — house, I mean — 
wdth unbounded applause. 

Fus. Have you been long on the stage, Mr. Daggerwood ? 

Dag. Fifteen years since I first smelt the lamp, sir ; my father 
was an eminent button-maker, at Birmingham, and meant me to 
marry Miss Molly Mop, daughter to the rich director of coal 
works at Wolverhampton ; but I had a soul above buttons, and 
abhorred the idea of a mercenary marriage. I panted for a 
liberal profession, so ran away from my father, and engaged with 
a traveling company of comedians. In my travels I had soon 
the happiness of forming a romantic attachment with the present 
Mrs. Daggerwood, wife to Sylvester Daggerwood, your humble 
servant to command, whose benefit is fixed for the eleventh of 
June, by desire of several persons of distinction ; so you see, sir, 
I have a taste. 

Fus. Have you ? Then sit down and I '11 read you my tragedy. 
I 'm determined some one shall hear it before I go out of this 
house. [Sits down) 

Dag. A tragedy ! Sir I '11 be ready for you in a moment ; let 
me prepare for woe. {Takes out a very ragged pocket -handker- 
chief.) " This handkerchief did an Egyptian to my mother give." 

Fus. Faith, I should think so ; and, to all appearance, one 
of the Norwood party. 

Dag. Now, sir, for your title, and then for the drardatis 
per so TUB. (Sits.) 

Fus. The title, I think, will strike ; the fashion of plays, you 



SYLVESTER DAGGERWOOD. 219 

know, is to do away with old prejudices, and to rescue certain 
characters from the illiberal odium with which custom has marked 
them. Thus we have a generous Israelite, an amiable cynic, and 
so on. Now, sir, I call my play " The Humane Footpad." 

Bag. What? 

Fus. There 's a title for you ! Is n't it happy ? Eh ! how 
do you like my " Footpad " ? 

Dag. Humph ! I think he '11 strike — but, then, he ought to 
be properly executed. 

Fus. 0, sir, let me alone for that. An exception to a general 
rule is the grand secret of dramatic composition. Mine is a free- 
booter of benevolence, and plunders with sentiment. 

Dag. There may be something in that, and, for my part, I 
was always with Shakspeare — "Who steals my purse, steals 
trash." I never had any weighty reasons for thinking other- 
wise. Now, sir, as we say, please to " leave off your horrible 
faces, and begin." 

Fus. My horrible faces ! 

Dag. Come, we '11 to 't like French falconers. 

Fus. [Reading.) Scene first. ... A dark wood, night. 

Dag. A very awful beginning. 

Fus. {Reading.) The moon behind a cloud. 

Dag. That 's new. An audience never saw a moon behind a 
cloud before — but it will be very hard to paint. 

Fus. Don't interrupt ; where was I ? ^ — ! behind a cloud. 

Dag. " The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous palaces — " 

Fus. Hey, the deuce ! What are you at ? 

Dag. Beg pardon ; but that speech never comes into my head 
but it runs away with me. Proceed. 

Fus. Enter. (Reading.) 

Dag. " The solemn tem^ples." 

Fus. Nay, then, I 've done. 

Da^g. So have I. I 'm dumb. 

Fus. Enter Egbert, musing. (Reading.) 

Dag. 0. P.?^ 

Fus. Pshaw ! what does that signifj^ ? 

Dag. Not much. ..." the great globe itself." 

Fus. (Reading.) Egbert, musing. Clouded in night I come — 

Dag. (Starting up.) " The cloud-capt towers, the gorgeous 
palaces, the solemn temples," &c. &c. &c. 

Fus. (Gets up.) He's mad ! a bedlamite ! raves like a Lear, 
and foams out a folio of Shakspeare without drawing breath ! 
I 'm almost afraid to stop in the room with him. 

* Stage initials for Ojjposite Prompter. 



220 THE STAGE. 

Enter SERVANT. 

1 I 'm glad you 're come, friend ! Now I shall be delivered ; 
your master would be glad to see me, I warrant. 

Servant, My master is just gone out, sir. 

Fus, Gone out ! 

Dag, " 0, day and night, but this is wondrous strange." 

Fus, What ! without seeing me, who have been waiting for 
him these three hours ? 

Bag, Three hours ! — pooh ' I Ve slept here these five morn- 
ings, in this old arm-chair. 

Fus, Pretty treatment ! Pretty treatment, truly ! to be kept 
here half the morning, kicking my heels in a manager's ante- 
room, shut up with a mad Dunstable actor. 

Bag. Mad ! Zounds, sir ! I 'd have you to know that "when 
the wind is northerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw." 

Fus. Tell your master, friend, tell your master, — but no 
matter ; he don't catch me here again, that 's all. I '11 go home, 
turn my play into a pageant, put a triumphal procession at the 
end on 't, and bring it out at one of the winter theaters. [Exit.) 

Bag. Young man, you know me. I shall come to my old 
chair again to-morrow, — but must go to Dunstable the day after, 
for a week, to finish my engagement. Wish for an interview — 
inclination to tread the London boards, and so on. You remem- 
ber my name — Mr. Sylvester Daggerwood, whose benefit is fixed 
for the eleventh of June^ by particular desire of several persons 
of distinction. 

Serv. I shall be sure to tell him, sir. 

Bag, " I find thee apt ; 
And duller wouldst thou be than the fat weed 
That rots itself at ease on Le'the's wharf, 
Wouldst thou not stir in this." Open the street door. 
Go on ! I '11 follow thee. colman. 



XII. — PAUL PRY. 

Enter DOUBLEDOT and SIMON, L. 

Bouhledot, Plague take Mr. Paul Pry! He is one of those 
idle, meddling fellows, who, having no employment themselves, 
are perpetually interfering in other people's afiairs. 

Simo?i, Ay, and he 's inquisitive into all matters, great and 
small. 

Bouh. Inquisitive ! Why, he makes no scruple of questioning 
you respecting your most private concerns. Then he will weary 
you to death with a long story about a cramp in his leg, or the 



PAUL PRY. 221 

loss of a sleeve-button, or some such idle matter. And so he 
passes his days, " dropping in," as he calls it, from house to house 
at the most unreasonable times, to the annoyance of every family 
in the village. But 1 11 soon get rid of him. 

Enter PRY, L., vnth umbrella^ which he places againat the wail. 

Pry. Ha ! how d' ye do, Mr. Doubledot ? 

Doub. Very busy, Mr. Pry, and have scarcely time to say 
" Pretty well, thank 3^0." [Turns from him as if writing in 
memorandum, hook. Simon advances.) 

Pry. Ha, Simon ! you here ? Kather early in the morning 
to be in a public house. Been taking a horn, eh ? Sent here 
with a message from your master, perhaps ? I say, Simon, when 
this wedding takes place, I suppose your master will put you all 
into new liveries, eh? 

Simon. Can't say, sir. 

Pry. Well, I think he might. (Touches Suioia^B sleeve.) Be- 
tween ourselves, Simon, it won't be before you want 'em, eh? 

Simon. That 's master's business, sir, and neither yours nor 
mine. 

Pry. Mr. Simon, behave yourself, or I shall complain of you 
to the colonel. By the way, Simon, that 's an uncommon fine 
leg of mutton the butcher has sent to your house. It weighs 
thirteen pounds five ounces. 

Doub. And how do you know that ? 

Pry. I asked the butcher. I say, Simon, is it for roasting or 
boilino: ? 

Sim.07i. Half and half, with the chill taken ofi". There 's your 
answer. (Exit Simon, R.) 

Pry. That 's an uncommon ill-behaved servant ! Well, since 
you say you are busy, I won't interrupt you ; only, as I was 
passing, I thought I might as well drop in. 

Doub. Then you may now drop out again. The London 
coach will be in presently, and — 

Pry- ^0 passengers by it to-day, for I have been to the hill 
to look for it. 

Doub. Did you expect any one by it, that you were so 
anxious ? 

Pry. No ; but I make it my business to see the coach come 
in every day. I can't bear to be idle. 

Doub. Useful occupation, truly ! 

Pry. Always see it go out ; have done so these ten years. 

Doub. [Going up.) Tiresome blockhead ! Well; good-mom-» 
ing to you. 

19* 



222 THE STAGE. 

Pry. Good-=-moriiing, Mr. Doubledot. Your tavern doesn't 
appear to be very full just now. 

Douh, No, no. 

Fry. Ha ! you are at a heavy rent ? {Pauses for an ansiaer 
after each question.) I 've often thought of that. No support- 
ing such an establishment without a deal of custom. If it 's not 
an impertinent question, don't you find it rather a hard matter to 
make both ends meet when Christmas comes round ? 

Douh, If it is n't asking an impertinent question, what 's that 
to you? 

Pry. 0, nothing; only some folks have the luck of it: they 
have just taken in a nobleman's family at the opposition house, 
the Green Dragon. 

Dcrah. What 's that ? A nobleman at the Grreen Dragon ! 

Pry. Traveling carriage and four. Three servants on the 
dickey and an outrider, all in blue liveries. They dine and stop 
all night. A pretty bill there will be to-morrow, for the servants 
are not on board wages. 

T^ovl). Plague take the Grreen Dragon 1 How did you dis= 
cover that they are not on board wages ? 

Pry. I was curious to know, and asked one of them. You 
know I never miss any thing for want of asking. 'T is no fault 
of mine that the nabob is not here, at your house. 

Bouh. Why, what had you to do with it ? 

Pry. You know I never forget my friends. I stopped the 
carriage as it was coming down the hill — brought it to a dead 
stop, and said that if his lordship — I took him for a lord at once 
— that if his lordship intended to make any stay, he could n't 
do better than go to Doubledot's. 

Boub. Well? 

Pry. Well, — would you believe it? — out. pops a saffron- 
colored face from the carriage window, and says, " You 're an 
impudent rascal for stopping my carriage, and I '11 not go to 
Doubledot's, if there 's another inn to be found within ten miles 
of it ! " 

Douh. There, that comes of your confounded meddling ! If 
you had not interfered I should have stood an equal chance with 
the Green Dragon. 

Pry. I 'm very sorry ; but I did it for the best. 

Boub. Did it for the best, indeed ! Deuce take you! By your 
officious attempts to serve, you do more mischief in the neigh- 
borhood than the exciseman, the apothecary, and the attorney, 
all together. 

Pr2j. Well, there 's gratitude! Now, really, I must go. Good- 
morning. {Exit Paul Pry.) 



GUSTAVUS AND CRISTIERN. 223 

Douh. I 'm rid of him at last, thank fortune ! (Pry reenters.) 
Well, what now ? 

Pry. I 'ye dropped one of my gloves. Now, that 's yery 
odd — here it is in my hand all the time ! 

Doub, Gro to confusion ! (Exit), 

Pry, Come, that 's ciyil ! If I were the least of a bore, now, 

it would be pardonable — but Hullo ! There 's the postman ! 

I wonder whether the Parkins's haye got letters again to-day. 
They haye had letters eyery day this week, and I can't for 
the life of me think what they can — [Feels hastily in his 
pockets.) By the way, talking of letters, here 's one I took from 
the postman last week for the colonel's daughter, Miss Eliza, 
and I haye always forgotten to giye it to her. I dare say it is 
not of much importance. [Peeps into it — reads,) "Likely — 
unexpected — affectionate." I can't make it out. No matter ; 
I '11 contrive to take it to the house — though I 'ye a deal to do 
to-day. [Runs off and returns.) Bear me ! I had like to haye 
gone without my umbrella. john poole {altered). 



XIII. — GUSTAVUS AND CRISTIEEN. 

Enter GUSTAyUS, Right, CRISTIEEN, Left. 

Cristiern. How now, Grustayus ? An insurgent ? Thou ? 
In arms against me — me, thy lawful king ? 
Hast counted well the chances ? Are the lives 
Of my misguided people held so light 
That thus thou 'dst push them on the keen rebuke 
Of guarded majesty; where justice waits. 
All awful and resistless, to assert 
The impervious rights, the sanctitude of kings, 
And blast rebellion ! 

Gustuvus, Justice, sanctitude. 
And rights ! 0, patience ! Rights ! what rights, thou tyrant ? 
Yes, if perdition be the rule of power, 
If wrongs give right, 0, then, supreme in mischief, 
Thou wert the lord, the monarch of the world, 
Too narrow for thy claim ! But if thou think'st 
That crowns are vilely propertied, like coin, 
To be the means, the specialty of lust. 
And sensual attribution ; if thou think'st 
That empire is of titled birth or blood ; 
That nature, in the proud behalf of one, 
Shall disenfranchise all her lordly race, 



224 THE STAGE. 

And bow her general issue to the yoke 

Of private domination ; then, thou proud one, 

Here know me for thy king. Howe'er, be told. 

Not claim hereditary, not the trust 

Of frank election ; 

Not even the high anointing hand of Heaven, 

Can authorize oppression, give a law 

For lawless power, wed faith to violation, 

On reason build misrule, or justly bind 

Allegiance to injustice. Tyranny 

Absolves all faith ; and who invades our rights, 

Howe'er his own commence, can never be 

But a usurper. But for thee — for thee 

There is no name. Thou hast abjured mankind. 

Dashed safety from thy bleak, unsocial side. 

And waged wild war with universal nature. 

Cris. Licentious traitor ! thou canst talk it largely. 
Who made thee umpire of the rights of kings. 
And power, prime attribute — as on thy tongue 
The poise of battle lay, and arms offeree, 
To throw defiance in the front of duty ? 
Look round, unruly boy ! Thy battle comes 
Like raw, disjointed mustering, feeble wrath, 
A war of waters, borne against the rock 
Of our firm continent, to fume, and chafe, 
And shiver in the toil. 

Gus. Mistaken man! 
I come empowered and strengthened in thy weakness ; 
For though the structure of a tyrant's throne 
Bise on the necks of half the suffering world, 
Fear trembles in the cem'ent ; prayers, and tears, 
And secret curses, sap its mouldering base, 
And steal the pillars of allegiance from it ; 
Then let a single arm but dare the sway, 
Headlong it turns and drives upon destruction. 

Cris, Profane, and alien to the love of Heaven ! 
Art thou still hardened to the wrath divine. 
That hangs o'er thy rebellion ? Know'st thou not 
Thou art at enmity with grace, cast out. 
Made an anath'ema, a curse enrolled 
Among the faithful, thou and thy adherents 
Shorn from our holy church, and offered up 
As sacred to perdition ? 

G71S. Yes, I know, 



THE WILL. 225 

When such as thou, with sacrilegious hand, 
Seize on the apostolic kej of heaven, 
It then becomes a tool for crafty knaves 
To shut out virtue, and unfold those gates 
That Heaven itself had barred against the lusts 
Of avarice and ambition. Soft and sweet, 
As looks of charity, or voice of lambs 
That bleat upon the mountains, are the words 
Of Christian meekness ! mission all divine ! 
The law of love sole mandate. 

Cris, No more of this ! 
Grustavus, wouldst thou yet return to grace, 
And hold thy motions in the sphere of duty, 
Acceptance might be found. 

Gtcs, Imperial spoiler ! 
Grive me my father, give me back my kindred. 
Give me the fathers of ten thousand orphans, 
Grive me the sons in whom thy ruthless sword 
Has left our widows childless ! Mine they were, 
Both mine, and every Swede's, whose patriot breast 
Bleeds in his country's woundings. 0, thou canst not, 
Thou hast outsinned all reckoning ! Grive me, then, 
My all that's left — my gentle mother, there. 
And spare yon little trembler ! 

Cris. Yes, on terms 
Of compact and submission. 

Gus, Ha! with thee? 
Compact with thee ? and meanest thou for my country, — 
Compact, submission, thraldom, for my country, — - 
For Sweden ? No ! So hold my heart but firm, 
Although it wring for 't, though blood drop for tears. 
And at the sight my straining eyes start forth — 
All of my kin that's left shall perish first ! 

BROOKE (altered). 



XIY. — THE WILL. 



Characters. — SWIPES, a brewer ; CURRIE, a saddler; FRANK MILLINGTON, 
and 'squire DRAWL. Enter SWIPES, R., CURRIE, L. 

Swipes, A sober occasion this, brother Currie ! Who would 
have thought the old lady was so near her end ? 

Currie, Ah ! we must all die, brother Swipes. Those who 
live loncjest outlive the most. 



226 THE STAGE. 

Swipes, True, true ; but, since we must die and leave our 
earthly possessions, it is well that the law takes such good care 
of us. Had the old lady her senses when she departed? 

Cur. Perfectly, perfectly. 'Squire Drawl told me she read 
every word of her last will and testament aloud, and never signed 
her name better. 

Swipes. Had you any hint from the 'Squire what disposition 
she made of her property ? 

Cur. Not a whisper ! the 'Squire is as close as a miser's purse. 
But one of the witnesses hinted to me that she has cut off her 
graceless nephew with a shilling. 

Swipes. Has she ? Good soul ! Has she ? You know I come 
in, then, in right of my wife. 

Cur. And I in my oivn right ; and this is, no doubt, the rea- 
son why we have been called to hear the reading of the will. 
'Squire Drawl knows how things should be done, though he is as 
air-tight as one of your own beer=barrels, brother Swipes. But 
here comes the young reprobate. He must be present, as a mat- 
ter of course, you know. {Enter Frank Millington, R.) Your 
servant, young gentleman. So, your benefactress has left you, at 
last ! 

Swipes. It is a painful thing to part with old and good friends, 
Mr. Millington. 

Frank. It is so, sir ; but I could bear her loss better, had I 
not so often been ungrateful for her kindness. She was my only 
friend, and I knew not her value. 

Cur. It is too late to repent. Master Millington. You will 
now have a chance to earn your own bread. 

Sivipes. Ay, ay, by the sweat of your brow, as better people 
are obliged to. You would make a fine brewer's boy, if you were 
not too old. 

Cur. Ay, or a saddler's lackey, if held with a tight rein. 

Frank. Gentlemen, your remarks imply that my aunt has 
treated me as I deserved. I am above your insults, and only 
hope you will bear your fortune as modestly, as I shall mine 
submissively. I shall retire. [As he is going, R., enter 'Squire 
Drawl, R.) 

^Squire. Stop, stop, young man ! We must have your pres- 
ence. Good-morning, gentlemen ; you are early on the ground. 

Cur. I hope the 'Squire is well to-day. 

''Squire. Pretty comfortable for an invalid. 

Swipes. I trust the damp air has not affected your lungs. 

''Squire. No, I believe not. Y^ou know I never hurry. Slow 
and sure is my maxim. Well, since the heirs at law are all 



THE WILL. 227 

convened, I shall proceed to open the last will and testament of 
jour deceased relative, according to law. 

Swipes, (While jfAe 'Squire is breaking the seal.) It is a try- 
ing scene to leave all one's possessions, 'Squire, in this manner ! 

Cur, It really makes me feel melancholy when I look round 
and see every thing but the venerable owner of these goods. 
Well did the preacher say. All is vanity ! 

■Squire, Please to be seated, gentlemen. [All sit. — The 
'Squire ^2^^^ on his spectacles^ and reads slowly.) "Imprimis: 
Whereas my nephew, Francis Millington, by his disobedience and 
ungrateful conduct, has shown himself unworthy of my bounty, 
and incapable of managing my large estate, I do hereby give 
and bequeath all my houses, farms, stocks, bonds, moneys, and 
property, both personal and real, to my dear cousins, Samuel 
Swipes, of Malt-street, brewer, and Christopher CuiTie, of Fly- 
court, saddler." ('Squire takes off his spectacles to- wipe them,) 

Swipes, {Dreadfully overcome.) Grenerous creature ! kind 
soul ! I always loved her. 

Cur. She was good, she was kind ! She was in her right 
mind. Brother Swipes, when we divide, I think I will take the 
mansion-house. 

Swipes, Not so fast, if you please, Mr. Currie ! My wife has 
long had her eye upon that, and must have it. {Both i^ise.) 

Cur. There will be two words to that bargain, Mr. Swipes ! 
And, besides, I ought to have the first choice. Did not I lend 
her a new chaise every time she wished to ride ? And who knows 
what influence 

Swipes, Am I not named first in her will ? And did I not 
furnish her with my best small beer for more than six months ? 
And who knows 

Frank, Gentlemen, I must leave you. {Going.) 

^Squire. ( Wiping his spectacles, and putting them on.) Pray, 
gentlemen, keep your seats. I have not done yet. {All sit.) 
Let me see ; where was I? — Ay, — " All my property, both per- 
sonal and real, to my dear cousins, Samuel Swipes, of Malt-street, 



brewer 



js ; 



Swipes, Yet 

'Squire, "And Christopher Currie, Fly-court, saddler " 

Cur, Yes ! 

^Squire, " To have and to hold in trust, for the sole and ex- 
clusive benefit of my nephew, Francis Millington, until he shall 
have attained the age of twenty-one years ; by which time I hope 
he will have so far reformed his evil habits, as that he may safely 



228 THE STAGE. 

be intrusted with, the large fortune which I hereby bequeath to 
Mm." 

Swipes. What 's all this ? You don't mean that we are hum- 
bugged ? In trust ! — how does that appear ? Where is it ? 

^Squire, (Pointing to the parchment.) There ! In two words 
of as good old English as I ever penned. 

Cur. Pretty well too, Mr. 'Squire, if we must be sent for to 
be made a laughing-stock of! She shall pay for every ride she 
had out of my chaise, I promise you ! 

Swipes. And for every drop of my beer. Fine times, if two 
sober, hard-working citizens are to be brought here to be made 
the sport of a graceless profligate ! But we will manage his 
property for him, Mr. Currie ! We will make him feel that trustees 
are not to be trifled with ! 

Cur. That will we ! 

^Squire. Not so fast, gentlemen; for the instrument is dated 
three years ago, and the young gentleman must already be of 
age, and able to take care of himself. Is it not so, Francis ? 

Frank. It is, your worship. 

^Squire. Then, gentlemen, having attended to the breaking of 
this seal according to law, you are released from any further 
trouble in the premises. 



XY. — THE DEBTOR AND THE DUN. 

Enter REMNANT, R.^ 

Remnant. Well, I am resolved I '11 collect my bill of Col. Blar- 
ney this time. He shan't put me off again. This is the twentieth 
time, as I 'm a sinner, that I have dunned him ! His smooth 
words shan't humbug me now. No, no ! Eichard Remnant is 
not such a goose as to be paid in fine words for fine clothes. 
[Takes out a long bill^ and unrolls it.) A pretty collection of 
items, that ! Why, the interest alone would make a good round 
sum. But hark ! He is coming. [Hastily rolls up the bill^ and 
returns it to his pocket.) 

Enter COL. BLARNEY, R. 

Blarney. Ah ! my dear Hemnant, a thousand welcomes ! 
How delighted I am to see you ! And what stupidity on the 
part of my people not to make you enter at once ! True, I had 
given orders that they should admit nobody; but those orders 

*' The initials R. and L. stand for the Kight and Left of the stage, facing 
the audience. 



THE DEBTOR AND TPIE DUN. 229 

did not extend to jou, my dear sir, for to you I am always at 
home. 

Rem. Much obliged, sir. [Fumhling in his pocket for his 
hUl) 

Blar. (Calling to his servants). What ho ! John ! Martha ! 
confound you ! I will teach you to keep my friend Remnant 
kicking his heels in the entry ! I will teach you to distinguish 
among my visitors ! 

Ee7n, Indeed, sir, it is no sort of consequence. 

Blar. Eut it is consequence ! To tell you — you, one of my 
best friends — that I was not in ! 

Rem, I am your humble servant, sir. (Drawing forth Mil.) 
I just dropped in to hand you this little — 

Blar. Quick, there, quick ! A chair for my friend Remnant ! 

Rem. I am very well as I am, sir. 

Blar. Not at all I I would have you seated. 

Rem, It is not necessary. (Servant hands a common chair.) 

Blar. Rascal ! — - not that ! An arm-chair ! 

Rem. You are taking too much trouble. (An arm-chair is 
placed for him.) 

Blar. No, no ; you have been walking some distance, and 
require rest. Now be seated. 

Rem. There is no need of it — I have but a single word to 
say. I have brought — 

Blar. Be seated, I say, I will not listen to you till you are 
seated. 

Rem. Well, sir, I will do as you wish. (Sits.) I was about 
to say — 

Blar. Upon my word, friend Remnant, you are looking 
remarkably well. 

Rem, Yes, sir, thank heaven, I am pretty well. I have come 
with this — 

Blar. You have an admirable stock of health — lips fresh, 
skin ruddy, eyes clear and bright — really — 

Re?7i. If you would be good enough to — 

Blar. And how is Madam Remnant? 

Rem. Quite well, sir, I am happy to say. 

Blar. A charming woman, Mr, Remnant ! A very superior 
woman. 

Rem. She will be much obliged, sir. As I was saying — 

Blar. And your daughter, Claudine, how is she ? 

Rem. As well as can be. 

Blar. The beautiful little thing that she is I I am quite in 
love with her. 

20 



230 THE STAGE. 

Rem. You do us too much honor, sir. I — you — 

Blar, And little Harry — does he make as much noise as 
ever, beating that drum of his ? 

Rein. Ah, yes ! He goes on the same as ever. But, as I was 
saying — 

Blar. And your little dog. Brisk, — does he bark as loud as 
ever, and snap at the legs of your visitors ? 

Rem. More than ever, sir, and we don't know how to cure 
him. He, he ! But I dropped in to — 

Blar. Do not be surprised if I want particular news of all 
your family, for I take the deepest interest in all of you. 

Rem. We are much obliged to your honor, much obliged. I — 

Blar. [Giving his hand.) Your hand upon it, Mr. Bemnant. 
Don't rise. Now, tell me, do you stand well with people of 
quality ? — for I can make interest for you among them. 

Rem. Sir, I am your humble servant. 

Bla7\ And I am yours, with all my heart. [Shaking hands 
again.) 

Rem. You do me too much honor. 

Blar. There is nothing I would not do for you. 

Rem. Sir, you are too kind to me. 

Blar. At least I am disinterested; be sure of that, Mr. 
Bemnant. 

Rem. Certainly I have. not merited these favors, sir. But, 

Blar. Now I think of it, will you staj- mikI sup with me? — 
without ceremony, of course. 

Rem. No, sir, I must return to my shop ; I should have been 
there before this. I — 

Blar. What ho, there ! A light for Mr. Bemnant ! and tell 
the coachman to bring the coach and drive him home. 

Rem. Indeed, sir, it is not necessary. I can walk well enough. 
But here — [Offering bill.) 

Blar. ! I shall not listen to it. Walk ? Such a night as 
this ! I am your friend, Bemnant, and, what is more, your 
debtor — your debtor, I say — all the world may know it. 

Rem. Ah ! sir, if you could but find it convenient — 

Blar. Hark ! There is the coach. One more embrace, my 
dear Bemnant ! [Shakes hands again.) Take care of the steps. 
Command me always ; and be sure there is nothing in the world 
I would not do for you. There ! Good-by. 

[Exit Bemnant, coiiditcted by Col. B.) 

ALTERED FROM MOLIERE. 



THE CHOLERIC FATHER. 281 

XVI. — THE CHOLERIC FATHER. 

Enter SIR ANTHONY ABSOLUTE, L. ; CAPTAIN ABSOLUTE, R. 

Capt. Absolute. Sir, I am delighted to see you here, and look- 
ing so well ! Your sudden arrival at Eath made me apprehen- 
sive for jour health. 

Sir Anthony. Yerj apprehensive, I dare say, Jack. What, 
you are recruiting here, hey ? 

Capt. A. Yes, sir, I am on duty. 

Sir A. Well, Jack, I am glad to see you, though I did not 
expect it ; for I was going to write to you on a little matter of 
business. Jack, I have been considering that I grow old and 
infirm, and shall not probably trouble you long. 

Capt. A. Pardon me, sir, I never saw you look more strong 
and hearty, and I pray fervently that you may continue so. 

Sir A. I hope your prayers may be heard, with all my heart. 
Well, then. Jack, I have been considering that I am so strong 
and hearty, I may continue to plague you a long time. Now, 
Jack, I am sensible that the income of your commission, and 
what I have hitherto allowed you, is but a small pittance for a 
lad of your spirit. 

Capt. A. Sir, you are very good. 

Sir A, And it is my wish, while yet I live, to have my boy 
make some figure in the world, I have resolved, therefore, to 
fix you at once in a noble independence. 

Capt. A. Sir, your kindness overpowers me. Yet, sir, I pre- 
sume you would not wish me to quit the army ? 

Sir A. ! that shall be as your wife chooses. 

Capt. A. My wife, sir ? 

Sir A. Ay, ay, settle that between you. 

Capt. A. A wife, sir, did you say ? 

Sir A. Ay, a wife : why, did not I mention her before ? 

Capt. A. Not a word of her, sir. 

Sir A. Odd so ! I mustn't forget her, though. Yes, Jack, 
the independence I was talking of is by a marriage ; the fortune 
is saddled with a wife : but I suppose that makes no difference ? 

Capt. A, Sir, sir ! you amaze me ! 

Sir A. Why, what 's the matter? Just now you were all 
gratitude and duty. 

Capt. A. I was, sir ; you talked to me of independence and a 
fortune, but not a word of a wife. 

Sir A. Why, what difference does that make ? Odds life, 
sir ! if you have the estate, you must take it with the live stock 
on it, as it stands. 



232 THE STAGE. 

Capt. A, Pray, sir, who is the lady ? 

Sir A, What 's that to you, sir ? Come, give me your prom- 
ise to love and to marry her directly. 

Capt. A. Sure, sir, that is not very reasonable, to summon 
my affections for a lady I know nothing of ! 

Sir A. I am sure, sir, 'tis more unreasonable in you to object 
to a lady you know nothing of ! 

Capt, A. You must excuse me, sir, if I tell you, once for all, 
that in this point I can not obey you. 

Sir A. Harkye, Jack ; I have heard you for some time 
with patience — I have been cool, quite cool ; but take care ; 
you know I am compliance itself, when I am not thwarted ; no 
one more easily led, when I have my own way ; but don't put 
me in a frenzy ! 

Capt. A. Sir, I must repeat it ; in this I can not obey you. 

Sir A. Now, hang me, if ever I call you Jack again while I 
live ! 

Capt. A. Nay, sir, but hear me. 

Sir A. Sir, I won't hear a word — not a word ! — not one word ! 
So, give me your promise by a nod, and I '11 tell you what. Jack, 
— I mean, you dog, — if you don't, by 

Capt. A. What, sir, promise to link myself to some mass of 
ugliness ; to 

Sir A. Zounds ! sirrah ! the lady shall be as ugly as I 
choose : she shall have a hump on each shoulder ; she shall be 
as crooked as the crescent ; her one eye shall roll like the bull's 
in Cox's mu-se'um ; she shall have a skin like a mummy, and 
the beard of a Jew ; — she shall be all this, sirrah ! yet I '11 make 
you ogle her all day, and sit up all night to write sonnets on her 
beauty ! [Crosses and recrosses.) 

Capt A. This is reason and moderation, indeed ! 

Sir A^ None of your sneering, puppy ! — no grinning, jacka- 
napes ! 

Capt. A. Indeed, sir, I never was in a worse humor for mirth 
in my life. 

Sir A. 'T is false, sir ! I know you are laughing in your 
sleeve ; I know you '11 grin when I am gone, sirrah I 

Capt. A, Sir, I hope I know my duty better. 

Sir A. None of your passion, sir ! none of your violence, if 
you please ! It won't do with me, I promise you. 

Capt. A. Indeed, sir, I never was cooler in my life. 

Sir A. I know you are in a passion in your heart ; I know 
you are, you hypocritical young dog ! But it won't do I 

Capt. A. Nay, sir, upon my word 



SCENE FROM THE RIV^ALS. 233 

Sir A. So, jou will fly out I Can't you be cool, like me ? 
What good can passion do ? Passion is of no service, you impu- 
doDt, insolent, overbearing reprobate ! There, you sneer again ! 
Don't provoke me ! But you rely upon the mildness of my temper, 
you do, you dog ! you play upon the meekness of my disposi- 
tion ! Yet, take care ; the patience of a saint may be overcome 
at last ! But mark ! I give you six hours and a half to consider 
of this : if you then agree, without any condition, to do every 
thing on earth that I choose, why, I may, in time, forgive you. 
If not, zounds ! don't enter the same hemisphere with me ! 
don't dare to breathe the same air or use the same light with 
me ; but get an atmosphere and a sun of your own ! I '11 strip 
you of your commission : I '11 lodge a five-and-three-pence in the 
hands of trustees, and you shall live on the interest ! I '11 disown 
you, I '11 disenherit you ! and hang me, if ever I call you Jack 
again ! {Exit.) 

Capt. A. Mild, gentle, considerate father ! I kiss your hands. 



X\t:I._ SCENE FROM THE RWALS. 

\^There should be. a table, on the stage, with pen ^ ink, and paper ; also two chairs.'\ 
Enter SIR LUCITIS, R. ', MR. ACRES, X. 

Sir Liicius. Mr. Acres, I am delighted to embrace you ! 

Acres. My dear Sir Lucius, I kiss your hand ! 

Sir L. Pray, my friend, what has brought you so suddenly 
to Bath ? 

Acr. Faith ! I have followed Cupid's Jack-a-lantern, and find 
myself in a quagmire at last. In short, I have been very ill 
used, Sir Lucius. I don't choose to mention names, but look on 
me as on a very ill-used gentleman. 

Sir L. Pray, Vv^hat is the case ? — I ask no names. 

Acr. Mark me, Sir Lucius : I fall as deep as need be in love 
with a young lady ; her friends take my part ; I follow her to 
Bath, send word of my arrival, and receive answer, that the 
young lad}^ is to be otherwise disposed of. — This, Sir Lucius, I 
call being ill used. 

Sir L. Yery ill, upon my conscience. — Pray, can you divine 
the cause of it ? 

Acr. Why, there 's the matter : she has another lover, one 
Beverly, who, I am told, is now in Bath. — Odds slander and 
lies ! he must be at the bottom of it. 
20* 



284 THE STAGE. 

Sir L. A rival in the case, is there ? — and you think he has 
supplanted you unfairly ? 

Act, Unfairly ? — to be sure he has. He never could have 
done it fairly. 

Sir L. Then 5 sure, you know what is to be done ! 

Acr, Not I, upon my honor ! 

Sir L, We wear no swords here, but you understand me, 

Acr. What! fight him? 

Sir L, Ay, to be sure ! What can I mean else ? 

Acr, But he has given me no provocation. 

Sir L, Now, I think he has given you the greatest provoca- 
tion in the world. Can a man commit a more heinous^ oiFence 
against another than to fall in love with the same woman ? 0, 
it is the most unpardonable breach of friendship ! 

Acr, Breach of friendship ! Ay, ay ; but I have no acquaint- 
ance with this man. I never saw him in my life. 

Sir L. That 's no argument at all ; he has the less right, 
then, to take such a liberty. 

Acr, Why, that 's true. I grow full of anger, Sir Lucius ! 
I fire apace ! Odds hilts and blades ! I find a man may have a 
deal of valor in him, and not know it ! But could n't I contrive 
to have a little right of my side ? 

Sir L, What signifies rights when your honor is concerned ? 
Do you think Achilles,! or my little Alexander the Great, ever 
inquired where the right lay ? No, they drew their broad=s words, 
and left the lazy sons of peace to settle the justice of it. 

Acr, Your words are a grenadier's march to my heart ! 1 
believe courage must be catching ! — I certainly do feel a kind 
of valor rising, as it were — a kind of courage, as I may say. 
Odds flints, pans, and triggers ! I '11 challenge him directly. 

Sir L. Ah, my little friend ! If I had Blunder bicss-Hall 
here, I could show you a range of ancestry, in the 'Trigger 
line, that would furnish the New Boom ; every one of whom had 
killed his man ! For, though the mansion-house and dirty acres 
have slipt through my fingers, I thank heaven our honor and the 
family-pictures are as fresh as ever. 

Acr, 0, Sir Lucius ! I have had ancestors, too ! — every man 
of 'em colonel or captain in the militia ! ■— Odds balls and bar- 
rels ! say no more — I 'm braced for it. The thunder of your 
words has soured the milk of human kindness in my breast ! — 
As the man in the play says, '' I could do such deeds— " 

•Sir L. Come, come, there must be no passion at all in Ihe 
case ; these things should always be done civilly. 

* Pronounce hanus, f Pronounce A-kiVles, 



SCENE FROM THE RIVALS. 285 

Act, I must be in a passion, Sir Lucius ! I must be in a rage ! 
Dear Sir Lucius, let me be in a rage, if you love me. Come, 
here 's pen and paper. {Sits down to write.) I would the ink 
were red ! Indite, I say, indite ! How shall I begin ? Odds 
bullets and blades ! I '11 write a good bold hand, however. 

Sir L. Pray, compose yourself. 

Acr. Come, now, shall I begin with an oath ? 

Sir L, Pho, pho ! do the thing decently. Begin now : Sir 



Acr. That 's too civil by half. 

Sir L. To preve7it the confusion that might arise — 

Acr. Well. 

Sir L. From our doth addressing the same lady — 

Acr. Ay, there 's the reason — same lady. — Well. 

Sir L. I shall expect the favor of your company — 

Acr. Zounds ! I 'm not asking him to dinner ! 

Sir L. Pray, be easy. 

Acr. Well, then, honor of your company — 

Sir L. To settle our pretensions^ — 

Acr, Well. 

Sir L. Let me see ; ay, King's-Mead-fields will do ; in 
King^ s-Mead-Jields. 

Acr. So, that 's done. Well, I '11 fold it up presently. My 
own crest — a hand and dagger — shall be the seal. {Rises.) 

Sir L. You see, now, this little explanation will put a stop at 
once to all confusion or misunderstanding that might arise between 
you. 

Acr. Ay, we fight to prevent any misunderstanding. 

Sir L. Now I '11 leave you to fix your own time. Take my 
advice, and you '11 decide it this evening, if you can ; then, let 
the worst come of it, 't will be off your mind to-morrow. 

Acr. Very true. 

Sir L. So I shall see nothing more of you, unless it be by 
letter, till the evening. I would do myself the honor to carry 
your message ; but, to tell you a secret; I believe I shall have 
just such another affair on my own hands. There is a gay cap- 
tain here, who put a jest on me lately at the expense of my coun- 
try ; and I only want to fall in with the gentleman, to call him 
out. 

Acr. 'By my valor, I should like to see you fight first ! Odds 
life ! I should like to see you stand up to shoot him, if it was 
only to get a little lesson ! sheridan. 



236 THE STAGE. 



XVIII. — PEDANTS SEEKING PATRONAGE. 

[E,. stands for the right of tlie stage, facing the audience ; L. for the left; 0. 

for the center.'\ 

Characters. — DIGIT, a mathematician ; he has a folio volume under his arm, 
and wears a very seedy black coat, SESQUIPEDALIA, a linguist and philoso- 
pher ; he wears spectacles, cind carries a cane. TRILL, a musician J he has a 
roll of music, to which he occasionally refers. DRONE, a servant, slow of motion 
and slow of speech. The scene is supposed to be in the ante-room of Mr, Mor- 
reWs house. "^ 

E7iter DIGIT, L, 

Digit. If theologians are in want of a proof that mankind 
are daily degenerating, let them apply to me, Archimedes t Digit. 

I can furnish them with one as clear as anv demonstration in 

t/ 

Euclid's third or fifth book ; and it is this, — the growing inat- 
tention to the sublime and exalted science of mathematics. 0, 
that the patriotic inhabitants of this extensive country should 
suffer so degrading a circumstance to exist ! Why, yesterday, 
I asked a lad of fifteen which he preferred, algebra or geometry, 
and he told me — 0, horrible ! —he told me he had never stud- 
ied either ! I was thunderstruck, I was astonished, I was petri- 
fied ! Never studied geometry ! never studied algebra ! — and 
fifteen years old ! The dark ages are returning. Heathenish 
obscurity will soon overwhelm the world, unless I do something 
immediately to enlighten it : and for this purpose I have now 
applied to Mr. Morrell, who lives here, and is celebrated for his 
patronage of learning and learned men. I wish somebody would 
come. [Looks off R., a)id calls.) Who waitB there? 

Enter DRONE, R. 

Is Mr. Morrell at home ? 

Drone. Can't say ; s'pose he is; indeed, I am sure he is — or 
was just now. On the vfhole, I rather think he is. 

Digit. Why, I could solve an equation while you are answer- 
ing a question of five words, — I mean if the unknown terms 
were all on one side of the equation. Can I see him ? 

* It is important, in the delivery of dialogues, in order to prevent con- 
fusion, to have the places of entrance and exit, whether right or left, well 
understood beforehand ; also to have every crossing of the stage marked and 
understood. Unless this is done, awkwardness will be produced by an unex- 
pected movement. In some of the dialogues the editor has inserted the proper 
marks ; in others, the speakers are left to arrange them. The animation and 
naturalness of a dialogue often depend upon proper and expressive movements 
across the p.tage, or to and fro. 

t Pronoiiacjd Ar-ke~?nc'des. 



PEDANTS SEEKING PATRONAGE. 237 

Drone, There is nobody in this house by the name of Quation. 

Digit, [Aside.) Now, here 's a fellow that can not distinguish 

between an algebraic term and the denomination of his master ! 

— I wish to see Mr. Morrell upon an affair of infinite import- 
ance, — ahem ! 

Drone. 0, very likely, sir. I will inform him that Mr. Qua- 
tion wishes to see him {mimicking) upon an affair of infinite 
importance, — ahem ! 

Digit. No, no ! Digit — Digit. My name is Digit. 

Drone. 0, Mr. Digy-Digy. Yery likely. [Exit Drone, i,) 

Digit. [Alone.) That fellow is certainly a negative quantity. 
He is minus common sense. If this Mr. Morrell is the man I take 
him to be, he can not but patronize my talents. Should he not, I 
don't know how I shall obtain a new coat. I have worn this 
ever since I began to write my theory of sines and cotangents ; 
and my elbows have so often formed right angles with the plane 
surface of my table, that a new coat or a parallel patch is very 
necessary. But here comes Mr. Morrell. 

Enter SESQTJIPEDALIA, L, 

Sir [bowing low), I am your most mathematical servant. I am 
sorry, sir, to give you this trouble ; but an affair of consequence 

— [pulling the rags over his elbows) — an affair of consequence, 
as your servant informed you — 

Sesqiiipedalia, Servus nnn est milii, Dom'i-ne ; that is, I have 
no servant, sir. I presume you have erred in your calculation ; 
and — 

Digit, [R.) No, sir. The calculations I am about to present 
you are founded on the most correct theorems of Euclid. You 
may examine them, if you please. They are contained in this 
small manuscript. [Producing a folio.) 

. Sesq. Sir, you have bestowed a degree of interruption upon 
my observations. I was about, or, according to the JjRtm8,fu-ti6- 
rus sum, to give you a little information concerning the luminary 
who appears to have deceived your vision. My name, sir, is Tul- 
lius Maro Titus Crispus Sescjuipedalia ; by profession a linguist 
and philosopher. The most abstruse points in physics or meta- 
physics are to me transparent as ether. I have come to this 
house for the purpose of obtaining the patronage of a gentleman 
who befriends all the literati. Now, sir, perhaps I have induced 
conviction, in mente tua, that is, in your mind, that yom^ calcu- 
lation was erroneous. 

Digit, Yes, sir ; as to your, person, I was mistaken ; but my 
calculations, I maintain, are correct, to the tenth part of a circu- 
lating decimal. 



238 THE STAGE. 

Sesq. But what is the subject of jour manuscript? Have 
you discussed the infinite divisibility of matter ? 

Digit. No, sir ; I can not reckon infinity ; and I have nothing 
to do with subjects that can not be reckoned. 

Sesq. Why, I can reckon about it. I reckon it is divisible 
ad infini'tum. But perhaps your work is upon the materiality 
of light ; and if so, which side of the question do you espouse ? 

Digit. 0, sir, I think it quite immaterial. 

Sesq. "What ! light immaterial ! Do you say light is imma- 
terial ? 

Digit. jSTo ; I say it is quite immaterial which side of the 
question I espouse. I have nothing to do with it. And, besides, 
I am a bachelor, and do not mean to espouse any thing at present. 

Sesq. Do you write upon the attraction of cohesion ? You 
know, matter has the properties of attraction and repulsion. 

Digit. I care nothing about matter, so I can find enough for 
mathematical demonstration. 

Sesq, I can not conceive what you have written upon, then. 

! it must be the centrip'etal and centrifugal motions. 

Digit. {Peevishly.) No, no ! I wish Mr. Morrell would come ! 
Sir, I have no motions but such as I can make with my pencil 
upon my slate, thus. [Figuring upon his hand.) Six, minus 
four, plus two, equal eight, minus six, plus two. There, those 
are my motions. 

Sesq. ! I perceive you grovel in the depths of arithmetic. 

1 suppose you never soared into the regions of philosophy. You 
never thought of the vacuum which has so long filled the heads 
of philosophers. 

Digit. Yacuiim ! [Putting his hand to his forehead.) Let 
me think. 

Sesq. Ha ! What ! have you got it sub inanu, that is, under 
your hand ? Ha, ha, ha ! 

Digit. Eh ! under my hand ? What do you mean, sir ? — 
that my head is a vacuum ? Would you insult me, sir ? — insult 
Archimedes Digit ? Why, sir, I '11 cipher you into infinite 
divisibility! I'll set you on an inverted cone, and give you a 
centripetal and centrifugal motion out of the window, sir ! I '11 
scatter your solid contents ! [Crosses to L.) 

Sesq. [R.) Da veniam, that is, pardon me ! it was merely a 
lapsus lingucB, that is — 

Digit. [L.) Well, sir, I am not fond of lapsus lingucBS, at all, 
sir. However, if you did not mean to offend, I accept your 
apology. I wish Mr. Morrell would come ! 

Sesq. But, sir, is your work upon mathematics ? 



PEDANTS SEEKING PATRONAGE. 239 

Digit, Yes, sir. In this manuscript I have endeavored to 
elucidate the squaring of the circle. 

Sesq, But, sir, a square circle is a contradiction in terms. 
You can not make one. 

Digit. I perceive you are a novice in this sublime science. 
The object is to find a square which shall be equal to a given 
circle ; which I have done by a rule drawn from the radii of the 
circle and the diag'onal of the square. And by my rule the area 
of the square will equal the area of the circle. 

Sesq, Your terms are to me incomprehensible. Diagonal is 
derived from the Grreek. Dia and gonia, that is, " through the 
corner." But I don't see what it has to do with a circle ; for, if 
I understand aright, a circle, like a sphere, has no corners. 

Digit, You appear to be very ignorant of the science of 
numbers. Your life must be very insipidly spent in poring over 
philosophy and the dead langTiages. You never tasted, as I 
have, the pleasure arising from the investigation of a difficult 
problem, or the discovery of a new rule in quadratic equations. 

Sesq. Poh ! poh ! {Crosses to i., and hits Digit on the leg 
with his cane.) 

Digit. [Crossing to R.) 0, you villain ! 

Sesq. (i.) I wish, sir, — 

Digit. (R.) And so do I wish, sir, that that cane was raised 
to the fourth power, and laid over your head as m^any times as 
there are units in a thousand! ! ! 

Sesq. (C.) Did m.y cane come in contact with the sphere of 
attraction around your shin ? I must confess, sir, — 

Enter TRILL, L. 

But here is Mr, Morrell, SaVve Domi-ne ! Sir, your servant. 

Trill. (L.) Which of you, gentlemen, is Mr. Morrell? 

Sesq. (C.) ! neither, sir. I took you for that gentleman. 

Trill, j^o, sir ; I am a teacher of music. Flute, harp, viol, 
violin, violoncello ,=^ organ, or any thing of the kind ; any instru- 
ment you can mention. I have just been displaying my powers 
at a concert, and come recommended to the patronage of Mr. 
Morrell. 

Sesq. For the same purpose are that gentleman and myself 
here. 

Digit. {R. — Still rubbing his shin.) ! ! 

Trill. Has the gentleman the gout? I have heard of its 
being cured by music. Shall I sing you a solo ? Hem ! hem ! 
(Clears his throaty a7id begins to sing.) Faw — 

* Pronounced ve-o-lon-chel'lo. Sound ph as/ in .sphere and symphony. 



240 THE STAGE, 



^ 



Digit, Hold ! If we must have a solo^ let it be sung 50 low 
tliat 1 can't hear it. I want none of your tunes. I 'd make that 
philosopher sing, though, and dance, too, if he had n't made a 
vulgar fraction of my leg. 

Sesq. In vtr-i-tate^ that is, in truth, it happened /o/?^e, that 
is, by chance. 

TrilL (Talking to himself.) If B be flat, me is in E. 

Digit, (To Sesq.) Ay, sir; this is only an in tegral part of 
your conduct ever since you came into this house. You have 
continued to multiply your insults in the abstract ratio of a geo- 
metrical progression, and at last have proceeded to violence. 
The dignity of Archimedes Digit never experienced such a reduc- 
tion descending before. 

Trill. ( To himself,) Twice jfe sol la^ and then comes me again. 

Digit. If Mr. Morrell does not admit me soon, I '11 leave the 
house, while my head is on my shoulders. 

Trill, G-entlemen, you neither keep time nor chord. But, if 
you can sing, we will try a trio before we go. 

Sesq, Can you sing an ode of Horace or Anac're-on? I 
should like to hear one of them. 

Digit, I had rather hear you sing a demonstration of the 
forty=seventh proposition, first book. 

Trill, I never heard of those performers, sir; where do they 
belong ? 

Sesq, They did belong to Italy and Greece. 

Trill, {Crosses to R.) Ah ! Italy ! There are our best mas- 
ters, such as Morelli and Fuselli. Can you favor me with some 
of their compositions ? 

Sesq. [L.) 0, yes ; if you have a taste that way, I can ' 
furnish you with them, and with Virgil, Sallust, Cicero, Caesar, 
and Quintilian ; and I have an old Greek Lexicon which I can 
spare. 

Trill, Ad lih'itum^ my dear sir, they will make a handsome 
addition to my musical library. 

Digit, (C.) But, sir, what pretensions have you to the patron- 
age of Mr, Morrell ? I don't believe you can square the circle. 

TrilL Pretensions, sir! I have gained a victory over the 
great Tantamarrarra, the new opera-singer, who pretended to vie 
with me. 'T was in the symphony of Handel's Oratorio of Saul, 
Avhere, you know, every thing depends upon the tempo giusto, and 
where the primo should precede in smorgando^ and the secondo, 
agitati. But he was on the third ledger line, I was an octave 
below, when, with a sudden appoggiatura^ I rose to D in olt^ 
and conquered him. 



I 



THE POLITICAL BORE. 241 



Enter DRONE, R. 



Drone, Mj master says how he will wait on you, gentlemen. 

Digit, What is your name, sir ? 

Drone. Drone, at your service. 

Digit, No, no ; you need not drone at my service. A very 
applicable name, however. 

Sesq, Drone ? That is derived from the Grreek Draon, that 
is, flying or moving swiftly. 

Trill, He seems to move in andante measure, that is, to the 
tune of Old Hundred. 

Drone. Very likely, gentlemen. 

Digit. Well, as I came first, I will enter first. 

Sesq. Eight. You shall be the antecedent, I the subsequent, 
and Mr. Trill the consequent. 

Trill. Right. I was always a man of consequence. — Fa, sol, 
la. Fa, sol, & c. [Exeunt^ R. , followed by Drone, who mimics them. ) 

ANON. 



XIX.— THE POLITICAL BORE. 

QUIDNUNC and FEEBLE. 

Enter FEEBLE, X. He stops, C, feels his pulse ^ and shakes his head — then takes a 
vial from his pocket, pours a few drops on a lump of sugar, and swallows it. As 
soon as he hears QLTDNUNC'S voice, he starts with disgust towards R. The whole 
of QUIDNUNC'S frst speech is uttered off the stage. There should be a chair a 
little to the right of the center. 

Quidnunc. {Without.) Hold your tongue, you foolish fellow ! 
he '11 be glad to see me. Brother Feeble ! brother Feeble ! 

Feeble. (R.) I was just going to bed. Bless my heart, what 
can this man want ? I know his voice. I hope no new misfor- 
tune brings him at this hour. 

Enter QUIDNUNC, L. 

Quid. Brother Feeble, I give you joy ! the nabob 's demol- 
ished. Hurra ! 

Feeb. Lack-a-day, Mr. Quidnunc ! How can you serve me 
thus? 

Quid. Suraja Dowla is no more ! Hurra ! [Crosses the 
stage to L., then back again to R.) 

Feeb. Poor man ! he 's stark, starino; mad. 

Quid. Our men diverted themselves with killing their bul- 
locks and their camels, till they dislodged the enemy from the 
sotagon, and the counterscarp, and the bungalow — 
21 



242 THE STAGE. 

Feeb, I '11 hear the rest to-morrow morning. ! I 'm ready 
to die ! 

Quid. Odds-heart, man, be of good cheer ! [Slapping Fee- 
ble on the back,) The new nabob, Jaffer Alley Cawn, has 
acceded to a treaty, and the English company got all their rights 
in the Phiemad and the Fushbulhoornons. 

Feeb. But, dear heart, Mr. Quidnunc, why am I to be dis- 
turbed for this ? 

Quid. We had but two seapoys killed, three chokeys, four 
gaul-walls, and two zemindars. Hurra ! 

Feeb. Would not to-morrow morning do as well for this ? 

Quid. Light up your windows, man ! — light up your win- 
dows ! Chandernagore is taken ! Hurra ! 
- Feeb. Well, well ! I 'm glad of it. Grood-night. [Going, R.) 

Quid. Here — here 's the " Grazette." [Produces news- 
paper.) 

Feeb. O, I shall certainly faint ! [Sits down.) 

Quid. Ay, ay, sit down, and I '11 read it to you. Here it is : 
" On the lOth the action commenced. Suraja Dowla drew up 
his men on the right of the bungalow, about" — (Feeble rises 
and moves away, R.) Nay, don't run away: I 've mere news to 
tell you. There 's an account from Williamsburgh, in America. 
The superintendent of Indian affairs — 

Feeb. Dear sir ! dear sir ! [Avoiding him.) 

Quid. He has settled matters with the Cherokees — [Follow- 
ing him about the stage.) 

Feeb. Enough, enough! [Moving aivay.) 

Quid. In the same manner he did before with the Catawbas. 
(Following him.) 

Feeb. Well, well ! — your servant. [Moving off.) 

Quid. So that the white inhabitants — {Following him.) 

Feeb. I wish you would let me be a quiet inhabitant of my 
own house ! 

Quid. So that the white inhabitants will now be secured by 
the Cherokees and the Catawbas — 

Feeb. You had better go home, and think of appearing before 
the commissioners. 

Quid. Go home ! No, no ! I '11 go and talk the matter over 
at our coffee-house. [Going, L.) 

Feeb. Do so, do so ! 

Quid. [Tur?iing back.) I had a dispute about the balance 
of power. [Takes chair a?id sits, C.) Pray, now, can you 
tell — 

Feeb. I know nothing of the matter/* 



MONEY MAKES THE MARE GO. 243 

Quid. Well, another time will do for that. (Rises,) I have 
a great deal to say about that. {Goi?ig — returns.) Right! I 
had like to have forgot. There's an erratum in the last " Gazette." 

Feeb. With all mj heart ! 

Quid, Page 3, 1st col., 1st and 3d lines, for hmnbs read booms. 

Feeb. Read what you will ! 

Quid. Nay, but that alters the sense, you know. Well, now, 
your servant. If I hear any more news, I '11 come and tell you. 

Feeb. For heaven's sake, no more ! 

Quid. I '11 be with you before you 're out of your first sleep. 

Feeb. Grood-night, good-night ! [Hurries off, R.) 

Quid. {Screaming after him.) I forgot to tell you — the Em- 
peror of Morocco is dead. So, now I have made him happy, 
I '11 go and call up my friend Razor, and make him happy, too ; 
and then I '11 go and see if any body is up at the coffee-house, 
and make them all happy there, too. [Exit, L.) 



XX. — MONEY MAKES THE MARE GO. 
Enter DERBY, R., a7id SCRAPEWELL, L. 

Derby. Good-morning, neighbor Scrapewell. I have half a 
dozen miles to ride to-day, and should be extremely obliged to 
you if you would lend me your gray mare. 

Scrapewell. I should be happy, friend Derby, to oblige you ; 
but I 'm under the necessity of going immediately to the mill 
with three bags of corn. My wife wants the meal this very 
morning. 

Ber. Then she must want it still, for I can assure you the mill 
does not go to-day. I heard the miller tell Jotham Sleek that 
the water was too low. 

Scrape. You don't say so ! That is bad, indeed ; for, in that 
case, I shall be obliged to gallop off to town for the meal. My 
wife would comb my head for me, if I should neglect it ! 

Ber. I can save you this journey, for I have plenty of meal 
at home, and will lend your wife as much as she wants. 

Scrape. Ah ! neighbor Derby, I am sure your meal will never 
suit my wife. You can't conceive how whimsical she is. 

Ber. If she were ten times more whimsical than she is, I am 
certain she would like it ; for you sold it to me yourself, and you 
assured me that it was the best you ever had. 

Scrape. Yes, yes, that 's true, indeed ; I always have the best 
of every thing. You know, neighbor Derby, that no one is more 
ready to oblige a friend than I am ; but I must tell you, the 



244 THE STAGE. 

mare tkis morning refused to eat hay ; and, truly, I am afraid 
she Vv^ill not carry you. 

Der. 0, never fear ; I will feed her well with oats on the road. 

Scrape, Oats ! neighbor ; oats are very dear. 

Ber, Never mind that. When I have a good job in view, I 
never stand for trifles. 

Scrape, Eut it is very slippery ; and I am really afraid she 
will fall and break your neck. 

Ber, Give yourself no uneasiness about that. The mare is 
certainly sure-footed ; and, besides, you were just now talking of 
galloping her to town. 

Scrape, Well, then, to tell you the plain truth, though I wish 
to oblige you with all my heart, my saddle is torn quite in pieces, 
and I have just sent my bridle to be mended. 

Der, Luckily, I have both a bridle and a saddle hanging up 
at home. 

Scro.pe, Ah ! that may be ; but I am sure your saddle will 
never fit my mare. 

Der, Why, then I '11 borrow neighbor Clodpole's. 

Scrape, Clodpole's ! his will no more fit than yours will. 

Der, At the worst, then, I will go to my friend 'Squire Jones. 
He has half a score of them ; and I am sure he will lend me one 
that will fit her. 

Scrape, You know, friend Derby, that no one is more willing 
to oblige his neighbors than I am. I do assure you the beast 
should be at your service, with all my heart ; but she has not 
been curried, I believe, for three weeks past. Her foretop and 
mane want combing and cutting very much. If any one should 
see her in her present plight, it would ruin the sale of her. 

Der, ! a horse is soon curried, and my son Sam shall dis- 
patch her at once. 

Scrape, Yes, very likely ; but I this moment recollect the 
creature has no shoes on. 

Der, Well, is there not a blacksmith hard by ? 

Scrape, What ! that tinker of a Dobson ? I would not trust 
such a bungler to shoe a goat ! No, no , none but uncle Tom 
Thumper is capable of shoeing my mare. 

Der. As good luck would have it, then, I shall pass right by 
his door. 

Scrape, [Calling off, L,) Timothy ! Timothy ! 

i:nter TIMOTHY, L, 

Here 's neighbor Derby, who wants the loan of the gray mare, to 
ride to town to-day. You know the skin was rubbed off her back 



MONEY MAKES THE MAKE GO. 245 

last week a hand's breadth or more. (He gives Tim a wink.) 
However, I believe she is well enough bj this time. (Tim shakes 
his head,) You know, Tim, how ready I am to oblige my neigh- 
bors. And, indeed, we ought to do all the good we can in this 
world. We must certainly let neighbor Derby have her, if she 
will possibly answer his purpose. Yes, yes ; I see plainly, by 
Tim's countenance, neighbor Derby, that he 's disposed to oblige 
you, I would not have refused you the mare for the worth of 
her. If I had, I should have expected you would have refused 
me in your turn. None of my neighbors can accuse me of being 
backward in doing them a kindness. Come, Timothy, what do 
you say? 

Timothy, (L.) What do I say, father ? Why, I say, sir, that 
I am no less ready than you are to do a neighborly kindness. 
But the mare is too used-up to make the journey to town to-day. 
About a hand's breadth, did you say, sir ? Why, the skin is 
'torn from the poor creature's back of the bigness of your broad- 
brimmed hat ! And, besides, I have promised her, as soon as 
she is able to travel, to Ned Saunders, to carry a load of apples 
to the market. 

Scrape. (C) Do you hear that, neighbor? I am very sorry 
matters turn out thus. I would not have disobliged you for the 
price of two such mares. Believe me, neighbor Derby, I am 
really sorry, for your sake, that matters turn out thus. 

Der. (R,) And I as much for yours, neighbor Scrapewell ; 
for, to tell you the truth, I received a letter this morning from 
old G-riffin, who tells me, if I will be in town this day, he will 
give me the refusal of all that lot of timber which he is about 
cutting down upon the back of Cobblehill ; and I intended you 
should have shared half of it, which would have been not less 
than fifty dollars in your pocket. But, as your — 

Scrape. Fifty dollars, did you say ? 

Der. Ay, truly did I ; but, as your mare is out of order, I '11 
go and see if I can get old Roan, the blacksmith's horse. 

Scrape. Old Roan ! My mare is at your service, neighbor. 
Here, Tim, tell Ned Saunders he can't have the mare. Neighbor 
Derby wants her ; and I won't refuse so good a friend any thing 
he asks for. 

Der. But what are you to do for meal ? 

Scrape. My wife can do without it this fortnight, if you want 
the mare so long. 

Der. But, then, your saddle is all in pieces. 

Scrape. I meant the old one. I have bought a new one since, 
and you shall have the first use of it. 



246 THE STAGE 

Der. Apxd jou would have me call at Thumper's, and get her 
shod? 

Scrape, 'No, no ! I had forgotten to tell jou that I let neigh- 
bor Dobson shoe her last week, by way of trial ; and, to do him 
justice, I must own he shoes extremely well. 

Der, But, if the poor creature has lost so much skin from off 
her back — 

Scrape. Poh, poh ! That is just one of our Tim's large stories. 
I do assure you it was not at first bigger than my thumb-nail ; 
and I am certain it has not grown any since. 

Der. At least, however, let her have something she will eat, 
since she refuses hay. 

Scrape. She did, indeed, refuse hay this morning ; but the 
only reason was, that she was crammed full of oats. You have 
nothing to fear, neighbor ; the mare is in perfect trim ; and she 
will skim you over the ground like a bird. I wish you a good 
journey and a profitable job. Come, come along to the barn. 
This way, neighbor, this way ! [He pulls Derby off, L., and 
Tim follows . ) berquin. 



XXI.— HOTSPUR AND GLENDOWER. 

:Enter GLENDOWEK, R., PERCY, L. 

Glendower, Hail, good cousin Percy ! hail, good cousin 
Hotspur ! — 
For, by that name, as oft as Lancaster" 
Doth speak of you, his cheeks look pale, and, with 
A rising sigh, he wisheth you in heaven. 

Hotspur. And you — in the other place, as often as he hears 
Owen Grlendower spoken of. 

Glen, I can not blame him. At my nativity 
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, 
Of burning cressets ; and at my birth 
The fram.e and huge foundation of the earth 
Shaked like a coward. 

Hot, Why, so it would have done 
At the same season if your mother's cat 
Had but kittened, though yourself had never been born. 

Glen. I say, the earth did shake when I was born. 

Hot, And I say, the earth was not of my mind. 
If you suppose as fearing you it shook. 

Glen, The heavens were all on fire ; the earth did tremble. 

Hot. O ! then the earth shook to see the heavens on fire, 



HOTSPUR AND GLENDOWER. 247 ! 

And not in fear of your nativity. | 

Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth j 

In strange eruptions ; oft the teeming earth I 

Is with a kind of colic pinched and vexed j 

Ey the imprisonment of unruly wind I 

Within her held, which, for enlargement striving, ; 

Shakes the old beldamed earth, and topples down ] 

Steeples and moss-grown towers. At your birth, | 

Our grandam earth, having this distemperature, i 

In passion shook. i 

Glen, Cousin, of many men j 

I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave { 

To tell you once again, that at my birth [ 

The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes ; \ 
The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds 

"Were strangely clamorous in the frighted fields. ! 

These signs have marked me extraordinary, ] 

And all the courses of my life do show i 

I am not in the roll of common men. \ 

Where is he living, — clipped in with the sea j 

That chides the banks of England, Wales, or Scotland, — ■ 

Who calls me pupil, or hath read to me ? j 

And bring him out that is but woman's son . 

Can trace me in the tedious ways of art, \ 

Or hold me pace in deep experiments. \ 

Hot, I think there is no man speaks better Welsh, 

Glen. 1 can speak English, lord, as well as you ; '■ 

For I was trained up in the English court, j 

Where, being but young, I framed to the harp | 

Many an English ditty, lovely well, ] 

And gave the tongue a helpful ornament, — , I 

A virtue that was never seen in you. ; 

Hot, Marry, and I 'm glad of it, with all my heart. ] 

I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew ! ! 

Than one of those same meter ballad-mongers ; j 

I 'd rather hear a brazen candlestick turned, \ 

Or a dry wheel grate on an axle-tree ; • ; 

And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, \ 

Nothing so much as mincing poetry. I 

'T is like the fDrced gate of a shuffling nag ! j 

Glen. {Crosses to L.) I can call spirits from the vasty deep. ^ 

Hot. {Crosses to R.) Why, so can I, or so can any man : i 

But will they come, when you do call for them ? ; 

Glen. Why, I can teach you to command the devil. , 

i 

( 
J 



248 THE STAGE. 

Hot, And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil 
Bj telling truth : Tell truth and shame the devil. 
If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither, 
And I '11 be sworn I have power to shame him hence. 

! while you live, Tell truths and shame the devil. 
Glen, Come, come ! [Crosses to R.) 

No more of this unprofitable chat. (Exit, R,) 

, Hot, No more, and welcome, Owen Glendower ! 
{Laughing.) He can " call spirits from the vasty deep ! " 

1 'd like to see him do it. I tell you what, — 
He held me last night at the least nine hours 
In reckoning up the several devils' names 

That were his lackeys : I cried "humph," and " well, go to," 

But marked him not a word. ! he 's as tedious 

As is a tired horse, a railing wife ; 

Worse than a smoky house ; I had rather live 

With cheese and garlic, in a windmill, far, 

Than feed on cates, and have him talk to me, 

In any summer-house in Christendom ! (Exit, L,) 

SHAKSPEARE (^altered), 

XXIL— DAVID AND GOUAH. 

Enter GOLIAH, L, 

Goliah, Where is the mighty man of war, who dares 
Accept the challenge of Philistia's chief? 
What victor-king, what general drenched in blood, 
Claims this high privilege ? What are his rights ? 
What proud credentials does the boaster bring 
To prove his claim ? What cities laid in ashes, 
What ruined provinces, what slaughtered realms, 
What heads of heroes, or what hearts of kings, 
In battle killed, or at his altars slain, 
Has he to boast ? Is his bright armory 
Thick^set with spears; and swords, and coats of mail, 
Of vanquished nations, by his single arm 
Subdued? Where is the mortal man so bold. 
So much a wretch, so out of love with life. 
To dare the weight of this uplifted spear ? Come, advance ! 
Philistia's gods to Israel's ! Sound, my herald, 
Sound for the battle straight ! 

Enter DAVID, R. 

David, Behold thy foe ! 
Gol. I see him not, 



DAVID AND GOLIAH, 249 

Dav, Behold him here ! 

GoL Say, where? 
Direct my sight. I do not war with boys. 

DaVo I stand prepared ; thy single arm to mine. 

Gol. Why, this is mockery, minion ! it may chance 
To cost thee dear. Sport not with things above thee; 
But tell me who, of all this numerous host, 
Expects his death from me ? Vf hich is the man 
Whom Israel sends to meet my bold defiance ? 

Dav, The election of my sovereign falls on me. 

Gol, On thee ! on thee ! by Bagon, 't is too much ! 
Thou curled minion ! thou a nation's champion ! 
'T would move my mirth at any other time ; 
But trifling 's out of tune. Begone, light boy ! 
And tempt me not too far. {Crosses to R.) 

Dav, {Crosses to L.) I do defy thee. 
Thou foul idolater ! Hast thou not scorned 
The armies of the living God I serve ? 
By me He will avenge upon thy head 
Thy nation's sins and thine ! Armed with His name, 
Unshrinking, I dare meet the stoutest foe 
That ever bathed his hostile spear in blood. 

GoL Indeed ! 't is wondrous well ! Now, by my gods ! 
The stripling plays the orator ! Yain boy ! 
Keep close to that same bloodless war of words, 
And thou shalt still be safe. Tongue- valiant warrior ! 
Where is thy sylvan crook, with garlands hung 
Of idle field-flowers ? Where thy wanton harp. 
Thou dainty-fingered hero ? — But I will meet thee. 
Thou insect warrior ! since thou darest me thus ! 
Already I behold thy mangled limbs. 
Dissevered each from each, ere long to feed 
The fierce, blood-snuffing vulture. Mark me well ! 
Around my spear I'll twist thy shining locks. 
And toss in air thy head all gashed with wounds. 

Dav, Ha ! say'st thou so ? Come on, then ! Mark us well. 
Thou comest to me with sword, and spear, and shield ! 
In the dread name of Israel's Grod I come; 
The living Lord of hosts, whom thou defiest ! 
Yet, though no shield I bring, — no arms, except 
These five smooth stones I gathered from the brook, 
With such a simple sling as shepherds use, — 
Yet all exposed, defenseless as I am. 
The Grod I serve^hall give thee up a prey 



250 THE STAGE. 

To my victorious arm. This day I mean 
To make the uncircumcised tribes confess 
There is a God in Israel. I will give thee, 
Spite of thy vaunted strength and giant bulk, 
To glut the carrion kites. Nor thee alone ; 
The mangled carcasses of your thick hosts 
Shall spread the plains of Eiah ; till Philistia, 
Through all her trembling tents and flying bands, 
Shall own that Judah's God is God indeed ! 
I dare thee to the trial ! 

Got, Follow me. 
In this good spear I trust. (Exit, L. 

Dav. 1 trust in heaven ! 
The God of battles stimulates my arm, 
And fires my soul with ardor not its own. (Exit, L. 

HANNAH MORE. 



XXIII. — INDIGESTION. 



Scene, DR. GREGORY'S study, A table, C, and chair, R. and L. Enter PA- 
TIENT, L.f a plump Glasgow merchant . DR. GREGORY discovered reading, R, 

Patient. Good-morning, Dr. Gregory ! I 'm just come into 
Edinburgh about some law business, and I thought when I was 
here, at any rate, I might just as weel take your advice, sir, 
about my trouble. 

Doctor, Pray, sir, sit down. (Patient sits, L.) And now, my 
good sir, what may your trouble be ? 

Pa. Indeed, doctor, I 'm not very sure ; but I 'm thinking it 's 
a kind of weakness that makes me dizzy at times, and a kind of 
pinkling about my stomach ; — I 'm just na right. 

Dr. You are from the west country, I should suppose, sir ? 

P«. Yes, sir, from Glasgow. 

Dr, Ay; pray, sir, are you a glutton? 

Pa, Heaven forbid, sir ! I 'm one of the plainest men living 
in all the west country. 

Br, Then, perhaps, you are a drunkard ? 

Pa, No, Dr. Gregory ; thank Heaven, no one can accuse me 
of that ! I 'm of the dissenting persuasion, doctor, and an elder ; 
so you may suppose I 'm na drunkard. 

Dr, I '11 suppose no such thing till you tell me your mode of 
life. I 'm so much puzzled with your symptoms, sir, that I should 
wish to hear in detail what you do eat and drink. When do you 
breakfast, and what do you take at it ? 



INDIGESTION. 251 

Pa. I breakfast at nine o'clock ; take a cup of coffee, and one 
or two cups of tea, a couple of eggs, and a bit of ham or kip- 
pered salmon, or, may be, both, if they 're good, and two or three 
rolls and butter. 

Dr. Do you eat no honey, or jelly, or jam, at breakfast? 

Pa, 0, yes, sir ! but I don't count that as any thing. 

Dr. Come, this is a very moderate breakfast. Vf hat kind of a 
dinner do you make ? 

Pa. 0, sir, I eat a very plain dinner, indeed. Some soup, 
and some fish, and a little plain roast or boiled ; for I dinna 
care for made dishes ; I think, some way, they never satisfy the 
appetite. 

Dr. You take a little pudding, then, and afterwards some 
cheese ? 

Pa. 0, yes ! though I don't care much about them. 

Dr. You take a glass of ale or porter with your cheese ? 

Pa. Yes, one or the other ; but seldom both. 

Dr. You west-country people generally take a glass of High- 
land whiskey after dinner. 

Pa. Yes, we do ; it 's good for digestion. 

Dr. Do you take any wine during dinner ? 

Pa. Yes, a glass or two of sherry ; but I 'm indifferent as to 
wine during dinner. I drink a good deal of beer. 

Dr. What quantity of port do you drink ? 

Pa. 0, very little; not above half a dozen glasses or so. 

Dr. In the west-country, it is impossible, I hear, to dine with- 
out punch ? 

Pa. Yes, sir : indeed, 't is punch we drink chiefly ; but, for 
myself, unless I happen to have a friend with me, I never take 
more than a couple of tumblers or so, and that 's moderate. 

Dr. 0, exceedingly moderate, indeed ! You then, after this 
slight repast, take some tea and bread and butter ? 

Pa. Yes, before I go to the counting-house to read the even- 
ing letters. 

Dr. And on your return you take supper, I suppose ? 

Pa. No, sir, I canna be said to tak supper ; just something 
before going ta bed ; — a rizzered haddock, or a bit of toasted 
cheese, or a half-hundred of oysters, or the like o' that, and, 
may be, two thirds of a bottle of ale ; but I tak no regular 
supper. 

Dr. But you take a little more punch after that ? 

Pa. No, sir, punch does not agree with me at bedtime. I 
tak a tumbler of warm whiskey-toddy at night ; it is lighter to 
sleep on. 



252 THE STAGE. 

Dr. So it must be, no doubt. This, you say, is your every- 
day life ; but, upon great occasions, you perhaps exceed a little ? 

Pa. No, sir, except when a friend or two dine with me, or 
I dine out, which, as I am a sober family man, does not often 
happen. 

Dr. Not above twice a week ? 

Fa. No ; not oftener. 

Dr. Of course you sleep well, and have a good appetite ? 

Fa. Yes, sir, thank Heaven, I have ; indeed, any ill health 
that I have is about meal-time. 

Dr. {Rising with a severe air — the Patient also rises. ) Now, 
sir, you are a very pretty fellow, indeed ! You come here and tell 
me you are a moderate man ; but, upon examination, I find, by 
your own showing, that you are a most voracious glutton. You 
said you were a sober man ; yet, by your own showing, you are 
a beer-swiller, a dram-drinker, a wine-bibber, and a guzzler of 
punch. You tell me you eat indigestible suppers, and swill toddy 
to force sleep. I see that you chew tobacco. Now, sir, what 
human stomach can stand this ? Go home, sir, and leave your 
present course of riotous living, and there are hopes that your 
stomach may recover its tone, and you be in good health, like 
your neighbors. 

Fa. I 'm sure, doctor, I 'm very much obliged to you. ( Taking 
out a bundle of hank-notes.) I shall endeavor to — 

Dr. Sir, you are not obliged to me : — put up your money, 
sir. Do you think I'll take a fee for telling you what you know 
as well as myself? Though you're no physician, sir, you are not 
altogether a fool. Go home, sir, and reform, or, take my word 
for it, your life is not worth half a year's purchase. 

Fa. Thank you, doctor, thank you. Grood-day, doctor. 

{Exit^ R.^ followed by Doctor.) 

ANON. 



XXIV. — NORVAL. 



Enter first GLENALVON, L. ; then NORVAL, R. The latter seems looking off 

at some distant object. 

Glenalvon. [Aside.) His port I love : he 's in ^ proper mood 
To chide the thunder, if at him it roared. 
[Aloud.) Has Nerval seen the troops ? 

Norval. The setting sun 
With yellow radiance lightened all the vale, 
And as the warriors moved, each polished helm, 
Corslet, or spear, glanced back his gilded beams. 



NORVxVL. 253 

The hill they climbed, and, halting at its top, 
Of more than mortal size, towering they seemed 
A host angelic, clad in burnino* arms. 

Glen, Thou talk'st it well ; no leader of our host 
In sounds more lofty talks of glorious war. 

Norv, If I should e'er acquire a leader's name, 
My speech will be less ardent. Novelty 
Now prompts my tongue, and youthful admiration 
Yents itself freely ; since no part is mine 
Of praise pertaining to the gi-eat in arms. 

Glen, You wrong yourself, brave sir ; 3'our martial deeds 
Have ranked you with the great. But mark me. Nerval, 
Lord Randolph's favor n©w exalts your youth 
Above his veterans of famous service. 
Let me, who know these soldiers, counsel you. 
Grive them all honor : seem not to command, 
Else they will hardly brook your late-sprung power. 
Which nor alliance props nor birth adorns. 

Norv. Sir, I have been accustomed, all my days. 
To hear and speak the plain and simple truth ; 
And though I have been told that there are men 
Who borrow friendship's tongue to speak their scorn, 
Yet in such language I am little skilled ; 
Therefore I thank Glenalvon for his counsel. 
Although it sounded harshly. Why remind 
Me of my birth obscure ? Why slur my power 
With such contemptuous terms ? 

Gle7i. I did not mean 
To gall your pride, which now I see is great. 

Norv, My pride ! 

Gleii, Suppress it, as you wish to prosper ; 
Your pride 's excessive. Yet, for Randolph's sake, 
I will not leave you to its rash direction. 
If thus you swell, and frown at high-born men, 
Will high-born men endure a shepherd's scorn ? 

Norv. A shepherd's scorn ! {Crosses, L.) 

Glen, (R.) Yes, if you presume 
To bend on soldiers those disdainful eyes 
As if you took the measure of their minds, 
And said in secret. You 're no match for me. 
What will become of you ? 

Norv, Hast thou no fears for thy presumptuous self? 

Glen, Ha ! dost thou threaten me ? 

Norv. Didst thou not hear ? 
22 



254 THE STAGE. 

Glen, Unwillingly I did ; a nobler foe 
Had not been questioned thus ; but such as thou — 

Now, Whom dost thou think me ? 

Glen, Norval. 

Norv. So I am — 
And who is Nerval in Glenalvon's eyes ? 

Glen, A peasant's son, a wandering beggar boy ; 
At best no more, even if he speaks the truth. 

Norv, False as thou art, dost thou suspect my truth ? 

Glen. Thy truth ! thou 'rt all a lie ; and basely false 
Is the vain-glorious tale thou told'st to Randolph. 

Norv. If I were chained, unarmed, or bedrid old, 
Perhaps I should revile ; but, as I am, 
I have no tongue to rail. The humble Nerval 
Is of a race who strive not but with deeds. {Crosses, R.) 
Did I not fear to freeze thy shallow valor, 
And make thee sink too soon beneath my sword, 
I 'd tell thee — what thou art. I know thee well. 

Glen. (L.) Dost thou not know Glenalvon born to command 
Ten thousand slaves like thee ? 

Norv. Villain, no more ! 
Draw and defend thy life. I did design 
To have defied thee in another cause ; 
But heaven accelerates its vengeance on thee. 
Now for my own and Lady Handolph's wrongs ! 

{Both draw their swords,) 

Enter LORD RANDOLPH, R. 

Lord Randolph. Hold ! I command you both ! the man that 
stirs 
Makes me his foe. 

Norv. {€.) Another voice than thine 
That threat had vainly sounded, noble Randolph. 

Glen. Hear him, my lord ; he 's wondrous condescending ! 
Mark the humility of shepherd Nerval ! 

Norv. Now you may scoff in safety. 

Lord R. {R.) Speak not thus, 
Taunting each other, but unfold to me 
The cause of quarrel ; then I judge betwixt you. 

Norv. Nay, my good lord, though I revere you much, 
My cause I plead not, nor demand your judgment. 
I blush to speak : and will not, can not speak 
The opprobrious words that I from him have borne. 
To the liege lord of my dear native land 



SEEKING SERVICE. 265 

I owe a subject's homage ; but even him 

And his high arbitration I 'd reject ! 

Within my bosom reigns another lord — 

Honor ! sole judge and umpire of itself. 

If my free speech offend you, noble Randolph, 

Revoke your favors, and let Nerval go 

Hence as he came ; alone — - but not dishonored ! 

Lord R. Thus far I 'il mediate with impartial voice ; 
The ancient foe of Caledonia's land 
Now waves his banner o'er her frighted fields ; 
Suspend your purpose till your country's arms 
Repel the bold invader ; then decide 
The private quarrel. 

Glen. I agree to this. 

Norv, And I. (Lord R. retires up.) 

Glen. Nerval, 
Let not our variance mar the social hour, 
Nor wrong the hospitality of Randolph. 
Nor frowning anger, nor yet wrinkled hate, 
Shall stain my countenance. Smooth thou thy brow ; 
Nor let our strife disturb the gentle dame. 

Norv. Think not so lightly, sir, of my resentment ; 
When we contend again, our strife is mortal. 

{Exeunt Lord R., Glen., Norv., L.) 

HOME. 



XXV. — SEEKING SERVICE. 

\^Two chairs on the stage, R. C. and L. C] 
Enter MR. DEPUTY BULL, R. Enter THOMAS, i. 

Thomas. Here 's a man, sir, come after the footman's place. 

Bull, I hope he is more civil than the last fellow. Does he 
seem modest ? 

Thomas. 0, yes, sir ; h^ 's an L^ishman. 

Bull. Well, we are used to them in the Bull family. Let 
me see him. [Exit Thomas, L.) I hope I shall be able to keep 
a servant, at last. They are all so provokingly saucy to me, 
because I have been a grocer. 

Enter LOONEY MACTWOLTER, L. 

So you want a place ! 

Looney. You may say that, with your own ugly mouth ! 
Bull. My ugly mouth ! You have been in service before ? 



256 THE STAGE. 

Loo. Does a duck swim ? 

Bull. Whom have you lived with ? 

Loo. I lived with the Mactwolters nineteen years, and then 
they turned me off. 

Bull, The Mactwolters ! Why did they turn you off? 

Loo. They went dead. 

Bull. That 's an awkward way of discharging a servant. Who 
were they ? 

Loo. My own beautiful father and most beautiful mother. 
They died of a whiskey fever, and left myself, Looney Mactwolter, 
heir to their estate. 

Bull. They had an estate, it seems. 

Loo. Yes ; they had a pig. 

Bull. Umph ! But they died, you say, when you were nine- 
teen. What have you been doing ever since ? 

Loo. I 'm a physicianer. 

Bull. A physician, is it, you mean ? 

Loo. Yes ; I 'm a cow-doctor. 

Bull, And what brought you here ? 

Loo, Hay-making. I 've a fork below ; hire me, then I '11 
have a knife to it, and prettily I '11 toss about your beef, Mr. 
Bull! 

Bull. I don't doubt you. This fellow would make the steaks 
disappear, with a vengeance ! What can you do as a footman ? 
Can you clean plate ? 

Loo. Clean a plate ! Botheration, man ! would you hire me 
for your kitchen-maid ? I can dirty a plate with any body in 
the parish. 

Bull. Do you think, now, Looney, you could contrive to beat 
a coat ? 

Loo. Faith, can I, in the Connaught fashion. 

Bull. How 's that ? 

Loo. With a man in it. Och ! Let me alone for dusting 
your ould jacket, Mr. Bull ! 

Bull. Confound this fellow, I say ! 

Loo. Be aisy, and I '11 warrant we '11 agree. Grive me what I 
ax, and we '11 never tumble out about the wages. 

Reenter THOMAS, L. 

Thomas. Here 's another man come after the place, I believe, 

sir. 

Bull. Another man ! Let me see him. (Exit Thomas, L.) 
Loo. Faith, now, you '11 bother yourself betwixt us. You '11 

be like a cat in a tripe-shop, and not know where to choose. 



SEEKING SERVICE. 257 

Eiiter JOHN LUMP, L, 

Lump. Be jou Mr. Bull, zur ? 

Bull. Yes ; I am the Deputy. 

Lump. ! if you are nothing but the deputy, I '11 jjicle here 
till I see Mr. Bull himself. 

Bull. Blockhead ! I am himself — Mr. Deputy Bull. 

Loo. Arrah ! can't you see, man, that this ugly ould gentle- 
man is himself? 

Bull. Hold your tongue, Mr. Looney Mactwolter ! What 's 
your name ? 

Lump. John. 

Bull. John what ? 

Lump. JSTo ; not John What, but John Lump. 

Bull. And what do you want, John Lump ? 

Lump. Why, I 'se come here, zur — but as we be upon a bit 
o' business, I '11 let you hear the long and short on 't, (Drawing 
a chair and sitting down.) I 'se corned here, zur, to hire myself 
for your sarvant. 

Bull. Ah ! but you don't expect, I perceive, to have any 
standing wages. 

Loo. (Branding a chair and sitting d.own.) Are n't you a pretty 
spalpeen, now, to squat yourself down there in the presence of 
Mr. Deputy Bull ? 

Bull. Now, here 's a couple of scoundrels ! 

Loo. Don't be in a passion with him. Mind how I '11 lam 
liim politeness ! 

Bull. G-et up directly, you villain, or — 

Loo. Not before Mr. Lump. See how I '11 give him the polish. 

Bull. If you don't get up directly, I '11 squeeze your heads 
together like two figs in a jar ! 

Lump. [Rising^ 0, then, it be unmannerly for a footman to 
rest himself, I suppose ! 

Loo. [Rising.) To be sure it is ; no servant has the bad 
manners to sit before his master, but the coachman. 

Lump. I ax your pardon, zur ; I 'se but a poor Yorkshire lad, 
traveled up from Doncaster Eaces ; I 'se simple, but I 'se willing 
to learn. 

Bull. Simple and willing to learn ? Two qualities, Master 
Lump, which will answer my purpose. (Lump stand.s hack.) 

Loo. Mind what you 're after going to do, Mr. Deputy Bull ! 
If you hire this fellow from the Donkey Races, when Looney 
Mactwolter is at your elbow, I '11 make free to say, you 're mak- 
ing a complete Judy of yourself. 
22* 



258 THE STAGE. 

Bull. You do make free, with, a vengeance ! Now, I '11 make 
free to say, get out of my house, you impudent cow-doctor ! 

Loo. You 're no scholard, or you 'd larn how to bemean your- 
self to a physicianer. Arrah ! Is n't a cow-doctor as good as 
you, you ouid figman ? 

Bull. Old figman ! This rascal, too, quizzing my origin ! 
G-et down stairs, or — 

Loo. Don't come over me with the pride of your staircase, for 
had n't my father a comfortable ladder to go up and down stairs 
with ? Take Mr. Lump into your dirty sarvice, and next time 
I 'm after meeting him, I '11 thump Mr. Lump, or Mr. Lump 
shall thump Mr. Looney Mactwolter ! 

[Exit, L. Exeunt Eull and Lump, R.) 

COLMAN. 



XXVL— THE DUEL.* 

Enter SIK LUCIUS O'TRIGGER, X., with pistols, followed by ACRES. 

Acres. (L.) By my valor, then. Sir Lucius, forty yards is a 
good distance. Odds levels and aims ! — I say it is a good dis- 
tance. 

Sir Lucius. {R.) Is it for muskets or small field-pieces? Upon 
my conscience, Mr. Acres, you must leave those things to me. — 
Stay, now — I '11 show you. [Measures paces along the Jioor.) 
There, now, that is a very pretty distance -— a pretty gentleman's 
distance. 

Acr. (R.) Zounds ! we might as well fight in a sentry-box ! 
I tell you. Sir Lucius, the further he is ofi*, the cooler I shall take 
my aim. 

Sir L. (L.) Faith! then I suppose you would aim at him 
best of all if he was out of sight ! 

Acr. No, Sir Lucius ; but I should think forty or eight-and- 
thirty yards — 

Sir L. Pooh ! pooh ! nonsense ! Three or four feet between 
the mouths of your pistols is as good as a mile. 

Acr. Odds bullets, no ! — by my valor ! there is no merit in 
killing him so near ! Do, my dear Sir Lucius, let me bring him 
down at a long shot : — a long shot, Sir Lucius, if you love me ! 

Sir L. Well, the gentleman's friend and I must settle that. 
But tell me now, Mr. Acres, in case of an accident, is there any 
little will or commission I could execute for you ? 

Acr. I am much obliged to you. Sir Lucius — but I don't 

understand 

*Sco par^c 233. 



THE DUEL. • 259 

Sir L. Why, you may think there 's no being shot at with- 
out a little risk ; and if an unlucky bullet should carry a qui- 
e'tus with it — I say it will be no time then to be bothering you 
about family matters. 

Acr. A quietus ! * 

Sir L. For instance, now — if that should be the case — 
would you choose to be pickled and sent home ? — or would itO 
be the same to you to lie here in the Abbey ? — I 'm told there 
is yery snug lying in the Abbey. 

Acr, Pickled ! — Snug lying in the Abbey ! — Odds tremors ! 
Sir Lucius, don't talk so ! 

Sir L, I suppose, Mr. Acres, you never were engaged in an * 
affair of this kind before. 

Acr, No, Sir Lucius, never before. 

Sir L. Ah! that's a pity! — there 's nothing like being used 
to a thing. Pray, now, how would you receive the gentleman's 
shot? 

Acr. Odds files ! — I 've practiced that — there. Sir Lucius 
— there. {Puts himself in an attitude.) A side front, hey ? I '11 
make myself small enough : I '11 stand edgeways. 

Sir L, Now — you 're quite out — for if you stand so when I 
take my aim — [Leveling at him.) 

Acr. Zounds ! Sir Lucius — are you sure it is not cocked? 

Sir L. Never fear. 

Acr. But — but — you don't know — it may go off of its own 
head ! 

Sir L. Pooh ! be easy. Well, now, if I hit you in the body, 
my bullet has a double chance ; for, if it misses a vital part of 
your right side, 't v/ill be very hard if it don't succeed on the 
left, W 

Acr. A vital part ! 

Sir L. But, there, fix yourself so — (placing him) — let him 
see the broadside of your full front ; there, now, a ball or two 
may pass clean through your body, and never do any harm at all. 

Acr. Clean through me ! — a ball or two clean through me ! 

Sir L. Ay, may they ; and it is much the genteelest attitude 
into the bargain. 

Acr. Look'ee, Sir Lucius ! I 'd just as iieve be shot in an 
awkward posture as a genteel one ; so, by my valor ! I will stand 
edgeways. 

Sir L. {Looking at his watch.) Sure, they don't mean to dis- 
appoint us. Ha! no, faith; I think I see them comJng. [Crosses 
to R.) 

Acr. (L.) Hey ! — v/hat ! — coming ! — 



260 THE STAGE. 

Sir L. Ay. Who are those yonder, getting over the stile ? 

Acr. There are two of them, indeed ! Well — let them come 
— hey. Sir Lucius ! we — we — we — we — won't run ! 

Sir L. Run ! 

Acr. No, — I say, — we won't run, by niy valor ! 

Sir L. What 's the matter with you ? 
. Acr, Nothing — nothing — my dear friend — my dear Sir 
Lucius ! but I — I — I don't feel quite so bold, somehow, as I 
did. 

Sir L. 0, fy ! Consider your honor. 

Acr. Ay — true — my honor. Do, Sir Lucius, edge in a 
word or two every now and then about my honor. 

Sir L. Well, here they 're coming. {Looking R.) 

Acr. Sir Lucius, if I wa'n't with you, I should almost think 
I was afraid ! If my valor should leave me ! — Yalor will come 
and go. 

Sir L. Then pray keep it fast while you have it. 

Acr. Sir Lucius, I doubt it is going ! — yes — my valor is 
certainly going ! — it is sneaking off ! I feel it oozing out, as it 
were, at the palms of my hands ! 

Sir L. Your honor ! your honor ! Here they are. 

Acr. 0, mercy ! — now — that I was safe at Clod Hall ! o; 
could be shot before I was aware ! (Sir Lucius takes Acres hy 
the arm, and leads him reluctantly off, it.) sheridan. 



XXYIL — THE IMAGmARY SICK MAN. 

Enter BURLY, X., and SERVANT, R. 

Burly. Can I see your master ? 

Servant. Master can't see any body, sir, except a doctor. 

Bur. Why, what 's the matter? 

Ser. Why, you see, ever since he had that large fortune left 
him, master has a fancy that he has all sorts of complaints on 
him, and that he is n't long for this world. 

Bur. Poor Fidget ! Has such been the effect of his good 
fortune? Well, tell him that an old friend whom he hasn't seen 
for ten years wishes to see him. 

Ser. It 's no use, sir. Unless you be a doctor of some sort, 
he '11 shut the door on you. 

Bur. {Aside.) A doctor of some sort ! Let me see. I surely 
am a sort of a doctor. Did n't I physic Prince Sackatoo, the 
black steward on board the Thunder Cloud, for an attack of 
colic ? And have n't I a vial of nux vom'ica, that my good aunt 
gave me? To be sure I am a sort of a doctor ! [AJoud.) Tell 



THE IMAGINARY SICK MAN. 261 

jour master that Doctor Bughumm, late physician to his hio-h- 
ness Prince Sackatoo, has called to see him. 

Ser. Ay, sir ; he '11 see Doctor Bughumm, and no mistake. 

[Exit R.) 

Bur. Now, with the knob of my cane to my nose, thus, I 
think I may pass muster. 

J^nier TIDGET, R. 

Sir, your obedient servant. I have the honor of addressing Mr. 
Frederic Fido-et, I believe. 

Fidget. Why, Burly, is this you ? 

Bur. Sir! 

Fidg. Excuse me, doctor, but, really, your resemblance to an 
old friend of mine is very remarkable. 

Bur. Very probable, sir ; I am often mistaken for other peo- 
ple. But look at me well, sir, and tell me what age you take 
me to be. 

Fidg. Well, sir, I should think you might be about twenty- 
two or twenty-three. 

Bur. Ha, ha ! Sir, I was ninety-five last Christmas. 

Fidg. Ninety-five ? Impossible ! 

Bur. It 's as true, sir, as that you are a sick man. Why, 
sir, you see in me one of the wonderful effects of my art — of 
my system of practice. 

Fidg. Upon my word, you are a very young-looking man for 
ninety-five. 

Bur. Sir, I am a traveling physician, and pass from city to 
city, from country to country, in search of distinguished sub- 
jects, for whose benefit I may put in practice some of the won- 
derful secrets I have discovered in medicine. Sir, I disdain to 
trouble myself with ordinary maladies — with common fevers, 
colds, and such bagatelles. I seek such maladies as are pro- 
nounced incurable by other physicians : a good desperate case 
of cholera, or of dropsy — a good plague — a good hopeless case 
of fever or inflammation. It is such cases that I seek, and in such 
that I triumph ; and I only wish, sir, that you had a complica- 
tion of all these maladies upon you, and were given over by all 
other physicians, in order that I might show you the excellence 
of my remedies, and do you a service. (Crosses to R.) 

Fidg. (L.) Eeally, sir, I am much obliged for this visit, for I 
am in a bad way, and the doctors give me no relief. 

Bur. Sir, let me feel your pulse. [Feels his pulse.) Don't 
be alarmed, sir. No matter how it beats — the worse the better. 
Ah ! this pulse does n't yet know who has got hold of it. It is 
a bad pulse — a very bad pulse. 



262 THE STAGE. 

Fidg. I was sure of it, doctor, and yet there are those who 
make light of it. 

Bur. Who attends you now ? 

Fidg, Doctor Purjum. 

Bur. His name is n't on my tablets in the list of great physi- 
cians. What does he say ails you ? 

Fidg. He says my liver is affected ; others say, my spleen. 

Bur. They are all ignoramuses ! The trouble is in your lungs. 

Fidg. (Very loud.) In my lungs? 

Bur. Yes, allow me. [Taps Mm on the breast.) Don't you 
feel a sort of tenderness — a pain there ? 

Fidg. Well, doctor, I don't perceive that I do. 

Bur. Is it possible you don't? {Gives him something of a 
thump.) 

Fidg. ! now I do, doctor. You almost doubled me up. 

Bur, I knew it was the lungs ! 

Fidg, Well, doctor, I don't know but you are right. Is there 
any other inquiry ? 

Bur, Yes. What are your symptoms ? 

Fidg, An occasional head-ache. 

Bur. Exactly. The lungs. 

Fidg. I have now and then a sort of mist before my eyes. 

Bur. All right. The lungs. 

Fidg. I have a sort of a feeling at my heart. 

Bur, Of course you have. The lungs, I say. 

Fidg, Sometimes I have a lassitude in all my limbs. 

Bur. Well and good. The lungs again. 

Fidg. And sometimes I have a sort of colicky pain here- 
abouts. 

Bur. No doubt of it. The lungs. You have an appetite for 
what you eat ? 

Fidg, Yes, doctor. 

Bur, The lungs. You don't object to a little wine? 

Fidg. Not at all, doctor. 

Bur. The lungs. You are a little drowsy after eating, and 
are glad of a nap ? 

Fidg. Yes, doctor. 

Bur. The lungs, the lungs, I tell you ! T\niat does your phy- 
sician order for you by way of nourishment? 

Fidg. He prescribes a plain porridge. 

Bur. The ignoramus ! (Crosses and recrosses,) 

Fidg. Some chicken. 

Bur. The ignoramus ! 

Fidg. Now and then, some veal. 



THE IMAGINARY SICK MAN. 263 

Bur. The ignoramus ! 

Fid^\ Boiled meats, occasionallj. 

Bur. The ignoramus ! ^ 

Fide/. Fresh eggs. 

Bur, The ignoramus ! 

Fidg. And at night some stewed prunes, to keep nij bowels in 
good order. 

Bur. The ignoramus ! 

Fidg. And, above all, if I take wine, I must take it well 
diluted with water. 

Bur. Ignorans\ ignoi^aiiticn^ ig7ioranti^ simus ! Your phy- 
sician is a blockhead ! Throw his physic to the dogs ! Thi'ow 
your wine out of the window. Eat coarse bread, vegetables, 
fruits — as much as you want. Gret a trotting-horse. Take 
plenty of exercise. 

Fidg. Exercise ! Dear doctor, I have n't stirred out of the 
house for a month. It would be the death of me ! 

Bur. Allow me to be the judge of that. Sir, I have n't been 
physician in chief to Prince Sackatoo for nothing. I do not 
mean, sir, that you should do all these things until I have for- 
tified you with some of my medicines. [Takes out vial of homcB' 
opathic inedicines.) Behold those little glob'ules ! 

Fidg. Shall I take them all at a dose ? 

Bur. All ? Three of them, my dear sir, put under a moun- 
tain, would work it from its base ! [Gives him three.) Swallow 
them. Don't be afraid ! Should they prove too powerful, I have 
an antidote at hand. 

Fidg. [Sivallows them.) There is nothing unpleasant in the 
taste. 

Bur, No ; nor in the effect, you '11 find. Don't you begin to 
feel a thrill, as it were — a sort of expansion — a sort of — eh? 
— that you haven't felt before ? [Slaps him on hack.) 

Fidg. ! my dear doctor, that was rather hard ! But, really, 
I do begin to feel a change — a sort of — 

Bur, Exactly. You feel stronger. 

Fidg. I do, indeedo 

Bur. More wide awake, 

Fidg. I do. 

Bur, Let me see you walk. 

Fidg, [Walks briskly across stage.) There! I haven't 
walked like that these six weeks. 

Bur, To be sure you have n't ! Xow for the trotting-horse ! 
Come with me. I will accompany you. Come on. 



264 THE STAGE. 

Fidg. Doctor, the effect is wonderful. Venerable man! 
Ninety -five, did you say ? 

Bur. Ninety -five and a fraction. — But wait till you see me * 
on horseback ! [Exeunt^ arm in arm^ Z.) moliere {altered). 



XXVIIL— BRUTUS OVER THE BODY OF LUCRETIA. 

Thus, thus, my friends, fast as our breaking hearts 
Permitted utterance, we have told our story. 
And now, to say one word of the imposture, 
The mask necessity has made me wear. 
When the ferocious malice of your king — 
King do I call him ? — when the monster, Tarquin, 
Slew, as you most of you may well remember. 
My father, Marcus, and my elder brother, 
Envying at once their virtues and their wealth. 
How could I hope a shelter from his power 
But in the false face I have worn so long ? 

Would you know why Brutus has summoned you ? 
Ask ye what brings him here ? Behold this dagger, 
Clotted with gore ! Behold that frozen corse ! 
See where the lost Lucretia sleeps in death \ 
She was the mark and model of the time ; 
The mould in which each female grace was formed, 
The very shrine and sacristy of virtue ! 
The worthiest of the worthy ! Not the nymph 
Who met old Numa in his hallowed Avalk, 
And whispered in his ear her strains divine. 
Can I conceive beyond her ! The young choir 
Of vestal virgins bent to her ! 0, my countrymen, 
You all can witness that when she went forth. 
It was a holiday in Bome. Old age 
Forgot its crutch, labor its task ; all ran ; 
And mothers, turning to their daughters, cried, 
" There, there 's Lucretia ! " Now look ye where she lies. 
That beauteous flower, that innocent, sweet rose, 
Torn up by ruthless violence ! — gone, gone ! 

Say, would ye seek instruction ? would ye seek 
What ye should do ? Ask ye yon conscious walls, 
And they will cry. Revenge ! 
Ask yon deserted street, where Tullia drove 
O'er her dead father's corse ; 't will cry, llevenge ! 
Ask yonder senate-house, whose stones are purple 
With human blood, and it will cry, Revenge ! 



SOLILOQUY OF RICHARD III. 265 

Go to the tomb of Tarquin's murdered wife, 
And the poor queen, who loved him as her son — 
Their unappeased ghosts will shriek, Revenge ! 
The temples of the gods, the all-viewing heavens, 
The gods themselves, shall justify the cry, 
And swell the general sound — Revenge ! Revenge ! 

J. II. PAYNE. 



XXIX. — THE USES OF ADVERSITY. 

Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile. 

Hath not old custom made this life more sweet 

Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these wpods 

More free from peril than the envious court ? 

Here feel we but the penalty of Adam. 

The seasons' difference, — as, the icy fang « 

And churlish chiding of the winter's wind. 

Which, when it bites and blows upon my body, 

Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, 

This is no flattery ; — these are counselors 

That feelingly persuade me what I am. 

Sweet are the uses of adversity ; 

Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, 

Wears yet a precious jewel in his head : 

And this our life, exempt from public haunts. 

Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 

Sermons in stones, and good in every thing. shakspeare. 



XXX. — SOLILOQUY OF RICHARD HI, 

Was ever woman in this humor wooed ? 
Was ever woman in this humor won ? 
I '11 have her ; but I will not keep her long. 
What ! I, that killed her husband, and Ms father, 
To take her in her heart's extremest hate ; 
With cui'ses in her mouth, tears in her eyes, 
The bleeding witness of my hatred by ; 
With Grod, her conscience, and these bars, against me. 
And I no friends to back my suit withal, 
But the plain devil and dissembling looks, — 
And yet to win her, — all the world to nothing ! — Ha ! 
Hath she forgot already that brave prince, 
Edward, her lord, whom I, some three months since, 
Stabbed in my angry mood, at Tewksbury ? 
23 



266 THE STAGE. 

A sweeter and a lovelier gentleman, — 

Framed in the prodigality of nature, 

Young, valiant, wise, and, no doubt, right loyal, — 

The spacious world can not again afford. 

And will she yet abase her eyes on me, 

That cropped the golden prime of this sweet prince. 

And made her widow to a woeful bed ? — 

On me, whose all not equals Edward's moiety ? 

On me, that halt, and am misshapen thus ? 

My dukedom to a beggarly den'ier, 

I do mistake my person all this while. 

Upon my life, she finds, although I can not. 

Myself to be a marvelous proper man. 

I '11 be at charges for a looking-glass, 

And entertain a score or two of tailors. 

To study fashions to adorn my body. 

Since I am crept in favor with myself, 

I will maintain it with some little cost. 

But, first, I '11 turn yon fellow in his grave ; 

And then return lamenting to my love. 

Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass, 

That I may see my shadow as I pass ! shakspeare. 



XXXI. — EALCONBRIDGE TO KING JOHN. 

All Kent hath yielded ; nothing there holds out 

But Dover Castle ; London hath received, 

Like a kind host, the Dauphin and his powers. 

Your nobles will not hear you, but are gone 

To offer service to your enemy ; 

And wild amazement hurries up and down 

The little number of your doubtful friends. 

But wherefore do you droop ? why look you sad ? 

Be great in act as you have been in thought ! 

Let not the world see fear and sad distrust 

Govern the motions of a kingly eye. 

Be stirring as the time ; be fire with fire : 

Threaten the threatener, and outface the brow 

Of bragging horror. So shall inferior eyes, 

That borrow their behaviors from the great, 

Grow great by your example, and put on 

The dauntless spirit of resolution. 

Away, and glister like the god of war 

When he intendeth to become the field ! 



hamlet's soliloquy. 267 

Show boldness and aspiring confidence. 

What ! shall they seek the lion in his den, 

And fright him there ? and make him tremble there? 

0, let it not be said ! Forage, and run 

To meet displeasure further from the doors ! 

And grapple with him ere he come so nigh. ib. 



XXXIL— HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY. 

To bo, or not to be, that is the question : 

Whether 't is nobler in the mind to suffer 

The slinks and arrows of outrao;eous fortune. 

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles. 

And, by opposing, end them ? To die, — to sleep, — 

No more ; — and, by a sleep, to say we end 

The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 

That flesh is heir to, — 't is a consummation 

Devoutly to be wished. To die, — to sleep : — 

To sleep ! perchance to dream ; — ay, there 's the rub ; 

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, 

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 

Must give us pause. There 's the respect 

That makes calamity of so long life : 

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time. 

The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's con tu-mely 

The pangs of disprized love, the law's delay, 

The insolence of office, and the spurns 

That patient merit of the unworthy takes. 

When he himself might his quietus make 

With a bare bodkin ? Who would fardels bear. 

To groan and sweat under a weary life. 

But that the dread of something after death — 

The undiscovered country, from whose bourn 

No traveler returns — puzzles the will. 

And makes us rather bear those ills we have, 

Than fly to others that we know not of? 

Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all ; 

And thus the native hue of resolution 

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought ; 

And enterprises of great pith and moment, • 

With this regard, their currents turn awry, 

And lose the name of action. IB. 



268 THE STAGE. 

XXXIII. —HAMLET'S ADDRESS TO THE PLAYERS. 

Speak tlie speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you, trip- 
pingly on the tongue. But if you mouth it, as many of our 
players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do 
not saw the air too much with your hand, thus ; but use all gently : 
for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) whirlwind 
of your passion, you must acquire and beget a temperance that 
may give it smoothness. ! it offends me to the soul to hear a 
robustious, periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very 
rags, to split the ears of the groundlings ; who, for the most part, 
are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows, and noise. 
I would have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant. It 
out-herods Herod : pray you, avoid it. 

Be not too tame, neither ; but let your own discretion be your 
tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the action, — with 
this special observance, that you o'erstep not the modesty of 
nature : for any thing so overdone is from the purpose of play- 
ing, whose end, both at the first and now, was, and is, to hold, as 
't were, the mirror up to nature ; to shov,^ virtue her own feature, 
scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his 
form and pressure. Now, this OA^erdone, or come tardy off, though 
it make the unskillful laugh, can not but make the judicious 
grieve ; the censure of which one must, in your allowance, o'er- 
weigh a whole theater of others. ! there be players, that I 
have seen play, - — and heard others praise, and that highly, — 
not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent of Chris- 
tians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted 
and bellowed that I have thought some of nature's journeymen 
had made men, and not made them well, they imitated humanity 
so abominably. IB. 



XXXiy. — SOLILOQUY OF MACBETH. 

If it were done when 't is done, then 't were well 
It were done quickly : if the assassination 
Could trammel up the consequence, and catch, 
With his surcease, success ; that but this blow 
Might be the be-all and the end-all here, 
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time, — 
We 'd jump the life to come. But, in these cases, 
We still have judgment here ; that we but teach 
Bloody instructions, which being taught, return 
To plague the inventor. This even-handed justice 



CATO OYER THE DEAD BODY OF HIS SON. 269 

Commends the ingredients of our poisoned chalice 

To our own lips. He 's here in double trust : 

First, as I am his kinsman and his subject, 

Strong both against the deed ; then, as his host, 

Who should against his murderer shut the door. 

Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan 

Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been 

So clear in his great office, that his virtues 

Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against 

The deep damnation of his taking-off : 

And pity, like a naked new-born babe. 

Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubim, horsed 

Upon the sightless couriers of the air, 

Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye. 

That tears shall drown the wind. I have no spur 

To prick the sides of my intent, but only 

Yaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself, 

And falls on the other. - IB. 



XXXV. — CATO OVER THE DEAD BODY OF HIS SON". 

The opening line of the following should be uttered with emotion, and with 
eyes and hands elevated. At the second line the speaker may take a step 
forward, as if to meet the body. He is to imagine friends around him, 
and, in places, to address them. The beautiful climax, beginning *' The 
mistress of the world/' &g , should be spoken with animation; the voice 
rising at each successive step of the climax. In the sixth line from the 
end of the extract, at the words ^' brave youth," the speaker may point to 
where the dead body is supposed to lie. 

Thanks to the Gods ! my boy has done his duty. 
Welcome, my son ! here lay him down, my friends, 
Full in my sight ; that I may view at leisure 
The bloody corse, and count those glorious wounds. 

How beautiful is Death when earned by Yirtue ! 

T\^ho would not be that youth I what pity is it 
That we can die but once to serve our country ! 

Why sits this sadness on your brows, my friends ? 

I should have blushed if Cato's house had stood 
Secure and fl.ourishec\jn a civil war. 

Fortius, behold thy brother, and remember 

Thy life is not thy own, when Eome demands it. 

Alas, my friends ! 
Why niourn you thus? Let not a private loss 
Afflict your hearts. 'T is Rome requires our tears. 
The mistress of the world, the seat of empire, 
23* 



270 THE STAGE. 

The nurse of heroes, the delight of gods, 

That humbled "^ the proud tyrants of the earth. 

And set the nations free, — Rome is no more ! 

0, liberty ! 0, virtue ! 0, my country ! 

Whate'er the Koman virtue has subdued, 

The sun's whole course, the day and year, are Caesar's ! 

For him the self-devoted Decii died, 

The Fabii fell, and the great Scipios conquered : 

Even Pompey fought for Caesar. 0, my friends! 

How is the toil of fate, the work of ages. 

The Roman empire fallen ! 0, cursed ambition ! 

Fallen into Caesar's hands ! our great forefathers 

Had left him naught to conquer but his country. 

Lose not a thought on me, — I 'm out of danger : 
Heaven will not leave me in the victor's hand. 
Caesar shall never say, " I conquered Cato ! " 

But, ! my friends, your safety fills my heart 

With anxious thoughts : a thousand secret terrors 
Rise in my soul: how shall I save raj fi'iends? 
'T is now, Caesar, I begin to fear thee ! 
Farewell, my friends ! If there be any of you 
Who dare not trust the victor's clemency, 
Know, there are ships prepared by my command 
(Their sails already opening to the winds) 
That shall convey you to the wished for port. 

Is there aught else, my friends, I can do for you ? 

The conqueror draws near. Once more, farewell I 

If e'er we meet hereafter, we shall meet 

In happier climes, and on a safer shore. 

Where Caesar never shall approach us more. 

There the brave youth, with love of virtue fired. 

Who greatly in his country's cause expired. 

Shall know he conquered. The firm patriot there. 

Who made the welfare of mankind his care. 

Though still by Faction, Vice, and Fortune crost. 

Shall find the generous labor — was not lost. addison. 



XXXVI. ^SOLILOQUY OF VAN ARTEVELDE. 

Say that I fall not in this enterprise, — 
Still must my life be full of hazardous turns, 
And they that house with me must ever live 
In imminent peril of some evil fate. — 

* The h m this word is now sounded by the best speakers. 



CATILINE'S DEFIANCE. 271 

Make fast the doors ; lieap wood upon the fire ; 
Draw in your stools, and pass the goblet round, 
And be the prattling voice of children heard. 

Now let us make good cheer But what is this ? 

Do I not see, or do I dream I see, 

A form that midmost in the circle sits 

Half visible, his face deformed with scars. 

And foul with blood ? — ! yes, — I know it — there 

Sits Danger, with his feet upon the hearth ! 

The dweller in the mountains, on whose ear 
The accustomed cataract thunders unobserved, — 
The seaman, who sleeps sound upon the deck, 
Nor hears the loud lamenting of the blast, 
Nor heeds the weltering of the plangent wave, — 
These have not lived more undisturbed than I. 
But build not upon this ; the swollen stream 
May shake the cottage of the mountaineer. 
And drive him forth ; the seaman, roused at length, 
Leaps from his slumber on the wave-washed deck ; 
And now the time comes fast when here in Grhent 
He who would live exempt from injuries 
Of armed men must be himself in arms. 
This time is near for all, — nearer for me. 
I will not wait upon necessity. 
And leave myself no choice of vantage-ground. 
But rather meet the times where best I may. 
And mould and fashion them as best I can. 

HENllY TAYLOR. 



XXXVII. — CATILINE'S DEFIANCE 

To the Roman Senate on the following decree being read by the Consul : 
" Lucius Sergius Catiline, by the decree of the Senate, you are declared an 
enemy and an alien to the State, and banished from the territory of the 
Commonwealth." 

Banished from Eome ! — what 's banished but set free 

From daily contact of the things I loathe ? 

" Tried and convicted traitor ! " ^ — Who says this ? 

Who '11 prove it, at his peril, on my head ? 

Banished ? — I thank you for 't. It breaks my chain ! 

I held some slack allegiance till this hour — 

But 710W my sword 's my own. Smile on, my lords ! 

* He here quotes the words cf Cicero against him. 



272 THE STAGE. 

I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes, 

Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs, 

I have within my heart's hot cells shut up, 

To leave you in your lazy dignities. 

But here I stand and scoff you : — here I fling 

Hatred and full defiance in your face. 

Your Consul 's merciful. For this all thanks. 

He dares not touch a hair of Catiline. 

" Traitor ! " I go — but I return. This — trial ! ^ 

Here I devote your Senate ! I Ve had wrongs. 

To stir a fever in the blood of age. 

Or make the infant's sinew strong as steel. 

This day 's the birth of sorrows ! — This hour V work 

Will breed proscriptions. — Look to your hearths, my lords. 

For there henceforth shall sit, for household gods. 

Shapes hot from Tar'tarus ! — all shames and crimes ; — 

Wan Treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn ; 

Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup ; 

Naked Rebellion, with the torch and ax. 

Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones ; 

Till Anarchy comes down on you like Night, 

And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave ! 

REV. GEORGE CROLY. 



- XXXVIII. — CATO'S SOLILOQUY 

ON THE I3IM0IITALITY OF THE SOUL. 
[The speaker has a scroll in his hand.'\ 

It must be so ! — Plato, thou reasonest well ! 

Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire. 

This longing after immortality ? 

Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror. 

Of falling into naught ? Why shrinks the soul 

Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? 

'T is the Divinity that stirs within us ; 

'T is Heaven itself, that points out an hereafter, 

And intimates eternity to man. 

Eternity ! — thou pleasing, dreadful thought ! 
Through what variety of untried being. 
Through what new scenes and changes, must we pass ! 
The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me ; 
But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it. 

* lie ynits a scornful emphasis on this word tn.-.I, as if it were a misnomer, 



DANIEL ON BEING DOOMED TO DEATH. 273 

Here will I hold. If there 's a Power above us, — 

And that there is, all nature cries aloud 

Through all her works, — He must delight in virtue ; 

And that which He delights in must be happy. 

But when ? or where ? — This world was made for Caesar. 

I 'm weary of conjectures this must end them. 

{Laying his hand on his sword,) 
Thus am I doubly armed : my death ^ and life,t 
My bane and antidote, are both before me. 
This in a moment brings me to an end ; 
But this informs me I shall never die. 
The soul, secured in her existence, smiles 
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point. 
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 
Grrow dim with age, and nature sink in years ; 
But thou shalt fiourish in immortal youth, 
Unhurt amidst the war of elements, 
The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. 

ADDISON. 



XXXIX. — DANIEL ON BEING DOOMED TO DEATH. 

And what is death, my friends, that I should fear it ? 

To die ! why, 't is to triumph : 't is to join 

The great assembly of the good and just ; 

Immortal worthies, heroes, prophets, saints ! 

0, 'tis to join the band of holy men, 

Made perfect by their sufferings ! 'Tis to meet 

My great progenitors ; 't is to behold 

The illustrious patriarchs — those with whom the Lord 

Deigned hold familiar converse ! 'T is to see 

Blessed Noah and his children ; once a world. 

'Tis to behold (0 ! rapture to conceive !) 

Those we have known and loved and lost below ! 

Behold Azariah and the band of brothers 

Who sought in bloom of youth the cruel flames ! 

Nor shall we see heroic men alone, 

Champions who fought the fight of faith on earth, — 

But heavenly conquerors, and angelic hosts, 

Michael and his bright legions, who subdued 

The foes of Truth ! To join their blest employ 

Of love and praise ! to the high melodies 

* The sword, f The scroll. 



274 * THE STAGE. 

Of choirs celestial to attune mj voice 
Accordant to the golden harps of saints 
To join in blest hosannas to their king ! 
Whose face to see, whose glorj to behold, 
Alone were heaven, though saint or seraph none 
Should meet our sight, and Grod alone were there ! 
This is to die ! Who would not die for this ? 
Who would not die, that he might live for ever ? 

MRS. H. MORE. 



XL. — THE QUALITY OF MERCY. 

The quality of mercy is not strained ; 

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 

Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed : 

It blesseth him that gives and him that takes. 

'T is mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes 

The throned monarch better than his crown. 

His scepter shows the force of temporal power, 

The attribute to awe and majesty, 

Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings : 

But mercy is above his sceptered sway. 

It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, 

It is an attribute to God himself; 

And earthly power doth then show likest Grod's 

When mercy seasons justice. shakspeare. 



XLL — OTHELLO'S FAREWELL. 

! NOW for ever 
Farewell the tranquil mind ! farewell content ! 
Farewell the plumed troop, and the big wars, 
That make ambition virtue ! 0, farewell ! 
Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump, 
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, 
The royal banner, and all quality, 
Pride, pomp, and circumstance, of glorious war ! 
And, ! ye mortal engines, whose rude throats 
The immortal Jove's dread clamors counterfeit, 
Farewell ! Othello's occupation 's gone ! ib. 



PART NINTH. — HUMOROUS PIECES- 



I.— AN ORATOR'S FIRST SPEECH IN PARLIA]VIENT. 

The virgin member takes his honored place, 

While beams of modest wisdom light his face : 

Multum in parvo ^ in the man you isee ; 

He represents — the people's majesty ! 

Behold their choice ! the pledged, midst many a cheer, 

To give free trade, free votes, free bread and beer ! 

Blest times ! He sits at last within the walls 

Of famed St. Stephen's venerated halls ! 

0, shades of Pitt and Fox ! is he within 

The House of Commons ? How his senses spin ! 

Proud man ! has he then caught the Speaker's eye? 

No, not just yet ; but he will, by and by. 

I wonder if there are reporters here ! 

In truth there are, and hard at work ; don't fear, 

O, happy man ! By the next post shall reach 

Your loved constituents the maiden speech. 

The Press (great tell-tale ! ) will to all reveal 

How you have — spoken for your country's weal ! 

In gaping wonder will the words be read, 

" The new M. P.,t Lord Noodle, rose and said ! " 

This pillar of the nation rises now. 

And toward the Speaker makes profoundest bow. 

Unused to so much honor, his weak knees 

Bend with the weight of senate dignities. 

He staggers — almost falls — stares — strokes his chin — 

Clears out his throat, and ventures to begin. 

" Sir, I am sensible " — (some titter near him) — 

" I am, sir, sensible " — " Hear ! hear ! hear ! hear him ! " 

Now bolder grown, for praise mistaking pother, 

He lifts one arm, and spouts out with the other. 

"I am, sir, sensible — I am, indeed — 

That, though — I should — want — words — I must proceed ; 

And, for the first time in my life, I think — 

I think — that — no great orator — should — shrink — 

* Much in little. 

t M. P. is the abbreviation for member of Parliament ; but the letters here 
! are to be spoken. 

275 



"^ 



276 HUMOROUS PIECES. 

And, therefore, — Mr. Speaker — I, for one — 

Will speak out freely — Sir — / ^ve not yet done. 

Sir, in the name of those enlightened men 

Who sent me here to speak for them — why, then 

To do my duty — as I said before — 

To my constituency — I 'll say no more." 

ALEXANDER BELL. 



II. ^ YORKSHIRE ANGLING. 

It happened once tha£ a young Yorkshire clown, but newly 
come to far-famed London town, was gaping round at many a 
wondrous sight, grinning at all he saw, with vast delight ; attended 
by his terrier Tyke, who was as sharp as sharp may be ; and thus 
the master and the dog, d' ye see, were very much alike. 

After wandering far and wide, and seeing every street and 
square, — the parks, the plays, the Queen, and the Lord Mayor, 
with all in which your " Cockneys " place their pride ; — and, 
being quizzed by many a city spark for coat '^ of country cut and 
red-haired pate, he came at length to noisy Billingsgate. He 
saw the busy scene with mute surprise, opening his ears and 
wondering eyes at the loud clamor, and the monstrous fish, here- 
after doomed to grace full many a dish. 

Close by him was a turbot on a stall, which, with stretched 
mouth, as if to pant for breath, seemed in the agonies of death, 
'Said Lubin, " What name, zur, d' ye that fish call ? " "• A tur- 
bot," answered the sarcastic elf; " ^jiat^ you see — -so something 
like yourself" '' W ye think," said Lubin, " that he '11 bite ? " 
" Why," said the fishman, with a roguish grin, " his mouth is 
open; put your finger in and then you '11 know." " Why, zur," 
replied the wight, '' I shouldn't like to try ; but there 's my Tyke 
shall put his tail there, an' you like." " Agreed," rejoined the 
man, and laughed delight. 

Within the turbot's teeth was placed the tail, and the fish bit 
with all its might. ' The dog no sooner felt the bite, than off" he 
ran, the dangling turbot holding tight. The astonished man 
began most furiously to bawl and rail ; but, after numerous 
escapes and dodgings, -Tyke safely got to Master Lubin's lodg- 
ings. Thither the fishmonger in anger flow. Says Lubin, " Lun- 
non tricks on me won't do ! I 'ze come from York to queer such 
fiats as you ; and Tyke, my dog, is Yorkshire, too ! " Then, 
laughing at the man, who sneaked av/ay, he had the fish for din- 
ner that same day. 

* Give the oa, in this word, the full sound of long o^ in note^ ttc. Speakers 
are apt to shorten it. 



BEAUTIES OF THE LAW. 277 

III.— SYMPATHY. 

A KNIGHT and a lady once met in a grove, 
While each was in quest of a fugitive love ; 
A river ran mournfully murmuring by, 
And they wept in its waters for sympathy. 
"0, never was knight such a sorrow that bore ! " 
"0, never was maid so deserted before ! " 
" From life and its woes let us instantly fly, 
And jump in together for company." 

They searched for an eddy that suited the deed, 

But here was a bramble, and there was a weed ; 

^' How tiresome it is ! " said the maid, with a sigh ; 

So they sat down to rest them in company. 

They gazed on each other, the maid and the knight ; 

And they did not seem very averse to the sight : 

" One mournful em^brace," said the youth, " ere we die ! " 

So, kissing and crying, kept company. 

"0, had I but wooed such an angel as you ! " 

" 0, had but my swain been one quarter as true ! " 

" To miss such perfection how blinded was I ! " 

Sure, now they were excellent company. 

At length spoke the lass, 'twixt a smile and a tear : 

" The weather is cold for a watery bier. 

When the summer returns we may easily die ; 

Till then let us sorrow in company." bishop iieber. 



IV. — BEAUTIES OF THE LAW. 

I. — BULLUM versus BOATUM. 

What a profound study is the law ! How shall I deuno it ? 
Law is — law. Law is — law ; and so forth, and hereby, and 
aforesaid, provided always, nevertheless, notwithstanding. Law 
is like a country dance ; people are led up and down in it till 
they are tired. It is like physic ; they that take the least of it 
are best off. Law is like a homely gentlewoman ; very well to 
follow. Law is like a scolding wife ; very bad when it follows 
us. Law is like a new fashion ; people are bewitched to get into 
it : it is' also like bad weather ; most people are glad when they 
get out of it. We shall now mention, in illustration, a case that 
came before us, — the case of BuUum versus Boatum. It was 
as follows: 

24 



278 HUMOROUS PIECES. 

There were two farmers — farmer A and farmer B. Farmer 
A was seized or possessed of a bull ; farmer B was seized or pos- 
sessed of a ferry-boat. Now, the owner of the ferry-boat, having 
made his boat fast to a post on shore, with a piece of hay twisted 
rope-fashion, or, as we say, vulgo vocato, a hay-band, — after he 
had made his boat fast to the aforesaid post (as it was very nat- 
ural for a hungry man to do) went up town to dinner. Farmer 
A's bull (as it was natural for a hungry bull to do) came down 
town to look for a dinner ; and, observing, discovering, seeing, 
and spying out, some turnips in the bottom of the ferry-boat, the 
bull scrambled into the ferry-boat, ate up the turnips, and, to 
make an end of his meal, fell to work upon the hay-band. The 
boat, being eaten from its moorings, floated down the river with 
the bull in it: it struck against a rock, beat a hole in the bottom 
of the boat, and tossed the bull overboard; whereupon, the owner 
of the bull brought his action against the boat for running away 
with the bull. The owner of the boat brought his action against 
the bull for running away with the boat. And thus notice of 
trial was given, Bullum versus Boatum, Boatum versus Bullum. 

The counsel for the bull began with saying, " My lord, and 
you, gentlemen of the jury, we are counsel in this cause for the 
bull. We are indicted for running away with the boat. Now, 
my lord, we have heard of running horses, but never of running 
bulls before. Now, my lord, the bull could no more run away 
with the boat than a man in a coach may be said to run away 
with the horses ; therefore, my lord, how can we punish what is 
not punishable ? How can we eat what is not eatable ? Or, how 
can we drink what is not drinkable ? Or, as the law says, how 
can we think what is not thinkable ? Therefore, my lord, as we 
are counsel in this cause for the bull, if the jury should bring 
the bull in guilty, the jury would be guilty of a bull." 

The counsel for the boat observed, that the bull should be non- 
suited, because, in his declaration, he had not specified what 
color he was of; for thus wisely, and thus learnedly, spoke the 
counsel : " My lord, if the bull was of no color, he must be of 
some color ; and, if he was not of any color, what color could 
the bull be of ? '' I over-ruled this motion myself, by observing 
the bull was a white bull, and that white is no color ; besides, 
as I told my brethren, they should not trouble their heads to 
talk of color in the law, for the law can color any thing. This 
cause being afterwards left to a reference, upon the award, both 
bull and boat were acquitted, it being proved that the tide of the 
river carried them both away ; upon which I gave it as my 
opinion, that, as the tide of the river carried both bull and boat 



BEAUTIES OF THE LAW. 279 

away, both bull and boat had a good action against the water- 
bailiff. 

My opinion being taken, an action was issued, and, upon the 
traverse, this point of law arose : How, wherefore, and whether, 
why, when, and what, whatsoever, whereas, and whereby, as the 
boat was not a compos mentis evidence, how could an oath be 
administered ? That point was soon settled by Boatum's attorney 
declaring that, for his client, he would swear any thing. 

The water-bailiffs' charter was then read, taken out of the 
oriodnal record in true law Latin ; which set forth in their dee- 
laration, that they were carried away either by the tide of flood 
or the tide of ebb. The charter of the water-bailiff was as fol- 
lows : " AqucE hailiffi est irmgistratus in choici, sapor omnihcs 
fishibus qui kabuerunt finos et scalos, claws, shells, et tales, qui 
swimmare in freshibus, vel saltibus riveris, lakos, pondis, canal- 
ibus et well-boats^ si've oysteri, prawni, ivhitini, shrimpi, turhutus 
solus;'" that is, not turbots alone, but turbots and soles both 
together. But now comes the nicety of the law ; for the law is 
as nice as a new-laid egg. Bullum and Boatum mentioned both 
ebb and flood, to avoid quibbling ; but, it being proved that they 
were carried away neither by the tide of flood nor by the tide 
of ebb, but exactly upon the top of high water, they were non- 
suited ; but, such was the lenity of the court, that, upon their 
paying all costs, they were allowed to begin again de novo. 



II. DANIEL versus DISHCLOTH. 

We shall now consider the law (as our laws are very consider- 
able, both in bulk and number) according as the statutes declare ; 
considerandi, considerando, consider andum, and not to be med- 
dled with by those that don't understand 'em. Law always 
expresses itself with true grammatical precision, never confounding 
moods, cases, or genders, except, indeed, when a woman happens 
accidentally to be slain ; then the verdict is always brought in 
manslaughter. 

The essence of law is altercation ; for the law can altercate, 
fulminate, deprecate, irritate, and go on at any rate. The quint- 
essence of the law has, according to its name, ^\q parts. The 
first is the beginning or incipiendum ; the second, the uncertainty 
or dubitandum ; the third, delay or puzzleenAuvi ; fourthly, 
replication without endum ; and fifthly, vionstrum et horrendum ; 
all which are exemplified in the following case of 

Daniel against Dishcloth. — Daniel was groom in the same 
family wherein Dishcloth was cook -maid ; and Daniel, returning 



280 HUMOROUS PIECES. 

home one day fiiddled, stooped down to take a sop out of the 
dripping-pan : Dishcloth pushed him into the dripping-pan, which 
spoiled his clothes ; and he was advised to bring his action 
against the cook-maid, the pleadings of which were as follow : 

The first person who spoke was Mr. Serjeant Snuffle. He 
began, saying : " My lo'd, since I have the honor to be pitched 
upon to open this cause to your lo'dship, I shall not impertinently 
presume to take up any of your lod'ship's time by a roundabout 
circumlocutory manner of speaking or talking, quite foreign to 
the purpose, and not any way relating to the matter in hand. I 
shall, I will, I design to show what damages my client has sus- 
tained hereupon, whereupon, and thereupon. Now, my lo'd, my 
client being a servant in the same family with Dishcloth, and not 
being at board wages, imagined he had a right to the fee-simple 
of the dripping-pan ; therefore he made an attempt on the sop 
with his right hand, which the defendant replevied with her left, 
tripped us up, and tumbled us into the dripping-pan. Now, in 
'Broughton's E^eports,' Slack versus Smallwood, it is said, primus 
strocus^ si'ne jocus^ ahsolutits est provocus (that is, the first stroke, 
without joke, gives the provoke). Now, who gave the j!?rmz^5 
strocus^— who gave the first offense ? Why, the cook. She brought 
the dripping-pan there ; for, my lo'd, though we will allow, if we 
had not been there, we could n't have been thrown down there, 
yet, my lo'd, if the dripping-pan had not been there for us to 
have tumbled down into, we could not have tumbled into the 
dripping-pan." 

The next counsel on the same side began with : " My lud, 
he who makes use of many words to no purpose has not much to 
say for himself; therefore I shall come to the point at once; at 
once and immediately shall I come to the point. My client was 
in liquor; the liquor in him serving an ejectment upon his under- 
standing, common sense was nonsuited, and he was a man beside 
himself ; as Dr. Biblibus declares, in his dissertation upon Bump- 
ers, in the 139th fol. vol. of the Abridgment of the Statutes, p. 
1286, where he says that a drunken man is homo duplicans, or 
a double man ; not only because he sees things double, but also 
because he is not as he should be, profecto ipse he ; but is as 
he should not be, defecto tipse he^ 

The counsel on the other side rose up gracefully, playing with 
his ruffles prettily, and tossing the ties of his wig about emphat- 
ically. He began with : " My lud, and you, gem'men of the 
jury, I humbly do conceive, I have the authority to declare, that 
I am counsel in this case for the defendant ; therefore, my lud, I 
shall not flourish away in words ; words are no more than filigree 



FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY. 281 

work. Some people may think them an embellishment ; but to 
me it is a matter of astonishment how any one can be so imper- 
tinent, to the detriment of all rudiment. But, my lud, this is 
not to be looked at through the medium of right and wrong ; for 
the law knows no medium, and right and wrong are but its shad- 
ows. Now, in the first place, they have called a kitchen my 
client's premises. Now, a kitchen is nobody's premises. A kitch- 
en is not a ware-house nor a wash-house, a brew-house nor a bake- 
house, an inn-house nor an out-house, nor a dwelling-house ; no, 
my lud, 't is absolutely and bo'na fi'de neither more nor less than 
a kitchen, or, as the law more classically expresses it, a kitchen 
is, camera necessaria pro usus cookare ; cum saucepannis, steiv- 
pannis, scullero^ dressero, coal holo^ stovis, svioak-jacko ; pn'o 
roastandum^ hoilanduvi^ fryandum^ et plum-pudding -aiidiLvi mix- 
aiidum ; pro turtle-saupos^ calves-head-asldhus^ cian calipee et 
calepashihus. Eut we shall not ayail ourselves of an alibi, but 
admit of the existence of a cook-maid. Now, my lud, we shall 
take it upon a new ground, and beg a new trial ; for, as they haye 
curtailed our nam.e from plain M^ry into Moll, I hope the court 
will not admit of this ; for, if the court were to allow of mistakes, 
what would the law do ? For, when the law don't find mistakes, 
it is the business of the law to make them." 

Therefore, the court, after due consideration, allowed the par- 
ties the liberty of a new trial ; for the law is our liberty, and it 
is happy for us we have the liberty to go to law. 

G. A. STEVENS. 



v. — FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY. 

Ben Battle was a soldier bold, and used to war's alarms : 
But a cannon-ball took of his legs, — so he laid down his arms t 
Now, as they bore him off the field, said he, "Let others shoot. 
For here I leave my second leg, and the Forty-second Foot ! ' ' 

The army surgeons made him limbs : said he, *' They 're only pegs 
But there 's as wooden members quite as represent my legs ! " 
Now, Ben he loved a pretty maid ; her name was Nelly Gray ; 
So he went to pay her his devoirs, when he 'd devoured his pay ! 

But when he called on Nelly Gray, she made him quite a scoff, 
And when she saw his wooden legs, began to take them off ! 
" 0, Nelly Gray ! 0, Nelly Gray ! is this your love so warm ? 
The love that loves a scarlet coat should be more uniform ! ' ' 

Said she, ** I loved a soldier once, for he was blithe and brave ; 
But I shall never have a man with both legs in the grave ! 
Before you had these timber toes, your love I did allow, 
But then, you know, you stand upon another footing now ! " 
24^ ■ 



282 HUMOROUS PIECES. 

''0, false and fickle Nelly Gray ! I know why you refuse : 
Though I 've no feet, some other man is standing in my shoes ! 
I wish I ne'er had seen your ^ice ; but, now, a long farewell ! 
For you will be my death ; — alas ! you will not be my JSTell ! " 

Now, when he went from Nelly Gray, his heart so heavy got. 

And life was such a burden grown, it made him take a knot ! 

So round his melancholy neck a rope he did entwine. 

And, for his second time in life, enlisted in the Line ! HOOD. 



yi._THE POETASTER'S FIRST TRAGEDY. 

[The speaker enters with a roll of manuscript in his hand, from which he reads 

the fourth stanza.] 

'^0, PROUD am I, exceeding proud, I 've mustered the elite ! * 
I '11 read them my new tragedy — no ordinary treat ; 
It has a deeply-stirring plot ; — the moment I commence. 
They '11 feel for my sweet heroine an interest intense ; 
It never lags, it never flags, it can not fail to touch ! 
Indeed, I fear the sensitive may feel it over much : 
But still a dash of pathos with my terrors I combine. 
The bright reward of tragic bard — the laurel will be niine ! 

'' Place chairs for all the company ; and, ma'am, I really think. 
If you don't send that child to bed, he will not sleep a wink; 
I know he'll screech like any thing before I 've read a page : 
My second act would terrify a creature of that age ^* 
And should the darling, scared by me, become an imbecile. 
Though flattered at the circumstance — how sorry I should feel ! 
What ! won't you send the child to bed ? Well, madam, we shall see — 
Pray take a chair, and now prepare the laurel crown for me ! 

" Have all got pocket-handkerchiefs? Your tears will fall in streams 
Place water near to sprinkle over any one who screams. 
And pray, good people, recollect, when what I 've said controls 
Your sympathies, and actually harrows up your souls. 
Remember (it may save you all from suicide or fits) 
'Tis but a mortal man who opes the flood-gates of his wits ! 
Retain your intellects to trace my brightest gem (my moral), 
And, when I 've done, I 'm very sure you '11 wreathe my brow with laurel. 

*' Hem — Act the first, and Scene the first — a wood — Bumprumpti enters, 
Bnmprumpti speaks : * And have I, then, escaped from my tormentors ? 
Revenge ! revenge ! 0, were they dead, and I a carrion crow, 
I 'd pick the flesh from oif their bones, I 'd sever toe from toe ! 
Shall fair Fryfitta, pledged to me, her plighted vow recall. 
And wed with hated Snookums, or with any man at all ? 
No ! — rather perish earth and sea, the sky, and — all the rest of it — 
For wife to me she swore she 'd be, and she must make the best of it.' " 

{Here the bard gesticulates a moment in dumb shoiu^ as if reading — 
then puts up the manuscript,) 

*- Pronounced d-leet'. 



f^ 



SOnilOWS OF WERTER. 283 

Through five long acts — 0, very long ! — the happy bard proceeds ; 

Without a pause, without applause, scene after scene he reads ! 

That silent homage glads his heart ! it silent well may be : 

Not one of all his slumbering friends can either hear or see ! 

The anxious matron is asleep ! the Beau beside the Fair ! 

The dog is sleeping on the rug ! the cat upon the chair ! 

Old men and babes — the footman, too ! — 0, if we crown the bard. 

We '11 twine for him the poppy wreath — his only fit reward ! 

T. H. BAYLY, 



Vn.— THE EXCELLENT MAN. 

They gave me advice and counsel in store, 
Praised me and honored me, more and more ; 
Said that I only should " wait a while," 
Offered their patronage, too, with a smile. 

But, with all their honor and approbation, 
I should, long ago, have died of starvation, 
Had there not come an excellent man, 
Who bravely to help me along began. 

Good fellow ! he got me the food I ate ; 

His kindness and care I shall never forget ; 

Yet I can not embrace him, — though other folks can^ 

For I myself am this excellent man ! H. heine. 



Vm. — SOUUOWS OF WERTER. 

Werter had a love for Charlotte, 
Such as words could never utter ; 

Would you know how first he met her ? 
She was cutting bread and butter. 

Charlotte was a married lady, 
And a moral man was Werter, 

And, for all the wealth of Indies, 
Would do nothing for to hurt her. 

So he sighed, and pined, and ogled, 
And his passion boiled and bubbled, 

Till he blew his silly brains out, 
And no more was by it troubled. 

Charlotte, having seen his body 

Borne before her on a shutter, 
Like a well-conducted person. 



Went on cutting bread and butter. 



THACKERAY. 



284 HUMOROUS riECES, 

IX. —THE POET AND THE CHEMIST. 

There was a chemist once, who had a mighty faith in the 
elixir yitse ; and, though unflattered. by the dimmest glimpse of 
success, he still kept groping and grubbing in his dark vocation, 
stupidly hoping to find the art of changing metals, and guineas 
coin from pans and kettles, by mystery of transmutation. 

A starving poet took occasion to seek this conjuror's abode, 
— 'not with encomiastic ode, or laudatory dedication, but with 
an offer to impart, for twenty pounds, the secret art, which 
should procure, without the pain of metals, chemistry, and fire, 
what he so long had sought in vain, and gratify his heart's desire. 

The money paid, our bard was huiTied to the philosopher's 
sanctorum; who, somewhat sublimized, and flurried out of his 
chemical decorum, crowed, capered, giggled, seemed to spurn his 
crucibles, retort, and furnace, and cried, as he secured the door, 
and carefully put to the shutter, " ]S"ow, now, the secret I im- 
plore I Out with it — speak — discover — utter ! " 

With grave and solemn look, the poet cried : " List — 0, list ! 
for thus I show it : — let this plain truth those ingrates strike, 
who still, though blessed, new blessings crave : That we may 
all have lohat we like^ simply by liking what ive have^ 



X. — LODGINGS FOR SIXGLE GEXTLE:MEX. 

Who has e'er been in London, that overgrown place, 
Has seen " lodoingrs to let " stare him full in the face. 
Some are good, and let dearly ; while some, 't is well known 
Are so dear, and so bad, they are best let alone. 

Will Waddle, whose temper was studious and lonely, 
Hired lodgings that took single gentlemen only ; 
But Will was so fat, he appeared like a tun, 
Or like two single gentlemen rolled into one. 

He entered his rooms, and to bed he retreated ; 
But, all the night long, he felt fevered and heated ; 
And, though heavy to weigh as a score of fat sheep. 
He was not, by any means, heavy to sleep. 

Next night 't was the same ! — and the next ! and the next ! 
He perspired like an ox ; he was nervous and vexed ; 
Week after week, till, by weekly succession. 
His weaklv condition was past all expression. 



ORATOR PUFF. 285 

In six months his acquaintance began much to doubt him ; 
For his skin " like a lady's loose gown " hung about him. 
He sent for a doctor, and cried, like a ninny, 
" I 've lost many pounds — make me well — there 's a guinea." 

The doctor looked wise : — ''A slow fever," he said ; 
Prescribed sudorifics, — - and going to bed. 
" Sudorifics in bed," exclaimed Will, " are humbugs ! 
I 've enough of them there, without paying for drugs ! " 

Will kicked out the doctor : but, when ill indeed, 
E'en dismissing the doctor don't always succeed ; 
So, calling his host, he said, " Sir, do you know 
I 'm the fat single gentleman, six months ago ? 

" Look ye, landlord, I think," argued Will, with a grin, 
" That with honest intentions you first took me in ; 
But from the first night — and to say it I 'm bold — 
I 'ye been so very hot, that I am sure I caught cold ! " 

Quoth the landlord, " Till now I ne'er had a dispute — 
I 've let lodgings ten years, I 'm a baker to boot ; 
In airing your sheets, sir, my wife is no sloven ; 
And your bed is immediately — over my oven." 

"The oven!" says Will. — Says the host, "Why this passion? 
In that excellent bed died three people of fashion. 
Why so crusty, good sir ?" " Zounds \ " cried Will, in a taking, 
" Who would not be crusty, with half a year's baking ? " 

Will paid for his rooms : — - cried the host, with a sneer, 
" Well, I see you 've been going away half a year." 
" Friend, we can't well agree ; — yet no quarrel," Will said , 
" But I 'd rather not perish, while you make your bread." 

COLMAN. 



XI. — ORATOR PUFF. 



Mr. Orator Puff had two tones in his voice, 

The one squeaking thus, and the other down so ; 
In each sentence he uttered he gave you your choice, 
For one half was B alt, and the rest Gr below. 
0! 0! Orator Puff, 
One voice for an orator 's surely enough. 



286 HUMOROUS PIECES. 

But he still talked away, spite of coughs and of frowns, 

So distracting all ears with his ups and his downs. 

That a wag once, on hearing the orator say, 

*' My voice is for war," asked him, " Which of them, pray ? " 

0! 0! Orator Puff, 

One voice for an orator 's surely enough. 

Keeling homewards, one evening, top-heavy with gin, 

And rehearsing his speech on the weight of the crown, 
He tripped near a saw-pit, and tumbled right in, 

" Sinking fund " the last words as his noddle came down. 
0! 0! Orator Puff, 
One voice for an orator 's surely enough. 

'^ Help, help ! " he exclaimed, in his he-and-she tones, 
" Help me out ! help me out ! — I have broken my bones ! " 
" Help you out ! " said a Paddy, who passed ; " what a bother ! 
Why, there 's two of you there ; can't you help one another ? " 

O! 0! Orator Puff, 

One voice for an orator's surely enough. 

THOMAS MOORE. 



XIL^THE NEWCASTLE APOTHECAEY. 

A MEMBER of the ^sculapian line lived at Newcastle-upon- 
Tyne : no man could better gild a pill, or make a bill, or mix a 
draught, or bleed, or blister ; or draw a tooth out of your head ; 
or chatter scandal by your bed ; or spread a plaster. His fame 
full six miles round the country ran ; in short, in reputation he 
was solus : all the old women called him " a fine man ! " His 
name was Bolus. 

Benjamin Bolus, though in trade (which oftentimes will genius 
fetter), read works of fancy, it is said, and cultivated the " belles 
lettres,^'' ^ Bolus loved verse ; — and took so much delight in 't, 
all his prescriptions he resolved to write in 't. No opportunity 
he e'er let pass of writing the directions on his labels in dapper 
couplets, like Gay's Fables, or, rather, like the lines in Hudibras. 

He had a patient lying at death's door, some three miles from 
the town, — it might be four, — to whom, one evening, Bolus 
sent an article — in pharmacy that 's called cathartical : and on 
the label of the stuff he wrote this verse, which one would think 
was clear enough, and terse, — 

" When taken, 
To he well shaken^ 

* In both these French words the s is unsounded. 



THE KEMOVAL. 287 

Next morning early Bolus rose, and to the patient's house he 
goes, upon his pad, who a vile trick of stumbling had : but he 
arrived, and gave a tap, between a single and a double rap. 
The servant lets him in, with dismal face, long as a courtier's 
out of place, — portending some disaster. John's countenance 
as rueful looked and grim, as if the apothecary had physicked 
him, and not his master. 

''Well, how's the patient?" Bolus said. John shook his 
head. " Indeed ! — hum ! — ha ! — that 's very odd ! — He took 
the draught ? " — John gave a nod. — " Well ? — how ? — what 
then? — speak out, you dunce!" "Why, then," says John, 
" we shook him once." — " Shook him ! how ? how ? " friend 
Bolus stammered out. — " We jolted him about." 

"What! shake the patient, man! — why, that won't do." 
"No, sir," quoth John, "and so we gave him two." "Two 
shakes! 0, luckless verse ! 'T would make the patient worse ! " 
"It did so, sir, and so a third we tried." — "Well, and what 
then ? " — " Then, sir, my master — died ! " colman. 



XIII. — THE REMOVAL. 

A NERVOUS old gentleman, tired of trade, — 
By which, though, it seems, he a fortune had made, — 
Took a house 'twixt two sheds, at the skirts of the town, 
Which he meant, at his leisure, to buy and pull down. 

This thought struck his mind when he viewed the estate ; 
But, alas ! when he entered he found it too late ; 
For in each dwelt a smith ; — a more hard-working two 
Never doctored a patient, or put on a shoe. 

At six in the morning, their anvils, at work, 
Awoke our good squire, who raged like a Turk. 
" These fellows," he cried, " such a clattering keep, 
That I never can get above eight hours of sleep." 

From morning till night they keep thumping away, — 
No sound but the anvil the whole of the day ; 
His afternoon's nap and his daughter's new song 
Were banished and spoiled by their hammers' ding-dong. 

He offered each Yulcan to purchase his shop ; 
But, no ! they were stubborn, determined to stop : 
At length (both his spirits and health to improve) 
He cried, " I '11 give each fifty guineas to move." 



288 HUMOROUS PIECES. 

" Agreed ! " said the pair ; " that will make us amends." 
^' Then come to my house, and let us part friends : 
You shall dine ; and we '11 drink on this joyM occasion, 
That each may live long in his new habitation." 

He gave the two blacksmiths a sumptuous regale ; 

He spared not provisions, his wine, nor his ale ; 

So much was he pleased with the thought that each guest 

Would take from him noise, and restore him to rest. 

** And now," said he, " tell me, where mean you to move? 
I hope to some spot where your trade will improve." 
"Why, sir," replied one, with a grin on his phiz, 
" Tom Forge moves to my shop, and I move to his ! " 

ANON. 



XIV. —THE RETOET. 



One day, a rich man, flushed with pride and wine, — 

Sitting with guests at table, all quite merry, — 
Conceived it would be vastly fine 

To crack a joke upon his secretary. 
*' Young man," said he, " by what art, craft, or trade, 

Did your good father earn his livelihood ? " 
" He was a saddler, sir," the young man said, 

" And in his line was always reckoned good." 
" A saddler, eh ? and had you stufted with Grreek, 

Instead of teaching you like him to do ! 
And pray, sir, why did not your father make 

A saddler, too, of you ? " 
At this each flatterer, as in duty bound. 
The joke applauded, and the laugh went round. 

At length, the secretary, bowing low. 

Said (craving pardon if too free he made), 
" Sir, by your leave, I fain would know 

Your father's trade." 
^' My father's trade? Why, sir, but that 's too bad ! 

My father's trade ! Why, blockhead, art thou mad ? 
My father, sir, was never brought so low. 

He was a gentleman, I 'd have you know ! " 
" Indeed ! excuse the liberty I take ; 

But, if your story 's true, 
How happened it your father did not make 

A gentleman of you? " anon, (altered.) 



THE VISIT OF ST. NICHOLAS. 289 

XV. — THE VISIT OF ST. NICHOLAS. 

'T WAS the night before Christmas, when all through the house 
Not a creature was stirring — not even a mouse : 
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, 
In the hope that St. Nicholas soon would be there. 
The children were nestled all snug in their beds, 
Yv^hile visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads, 
And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap. 
Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap. 
When out on the lawn there rose such a clatter, 
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. 
Away to the window I flew like a flash, 
Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash. 
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow 
Grave tlie luster of midday to objects below ; 
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear 
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer. 
With a little old driver, so lively and quick, 
I knew in a moment it must bo St. Nick ! ' 

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, 
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name :* 
" Now, Dasher ! now. Dancer ! now, Prancer ! now, Yixen ! 
On, Comet ! on, Cupid ! on, Dunder and Blixen ! 
To the top of the porch ! to the top of the wall ! 
Now, dash away ! dash away ! dash away, all ! " 
As dry leaves, that before the wild hurricane fly. 
When they meet with an obstacle mount to the sky,, 
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew 
With the sleigh full of toys — and St. Nicholas, too J 
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof 
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. 
As I drew in my head, and was turning around, 
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. 
He was dressed all in fiir from his head to his foot. 
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot ; 
A bundle of toys was flung on his back. 
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack ; 
His eyes, how they twinkled ! his dimples, how merry ! 
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry ; 
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow. 
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow ; 
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth. 
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath. 
25 



290 HUMOROUS PIECES. 

He had a broad face, and a little round belly, 

That shook when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly. 

He was chubby and plump, — a right jolly old elf, — 

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself. 

A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, 

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. 

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, 

And filled all his stockings ; then turned with a jerk, 

And, laying his finger aside of his nose. 

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. 

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle. 

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle ; 

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, 

" Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good-night ! " 

CLEMENT C. MOORE. 



XVI. — BEAUTY, WIT, AND GOLD. 

In a bower a widow dwelt ; 
At her feet three suitors knelt ; 
Each adored the widow much. 
Each essayed her heart to touch ; 
One had wit, and one had gold, 
And one was cast in beauty's mould ; 
Gruess which was it won the prize, 
Purse, or tongue, or handsome eyes ? 

First appeared the handsome man, 
Proudly peeping o'er her fan ; 
Red his lips, and white his skin, — 
Could such beauty fail to win ? 
Then stepped forth the man of gold ; 
Cash he counted, coin he told. 
Wealth the burden of his tale, — 
Could such golden projects fail ? 

Then the man of wit and sense 

Wooed her with his eloquence. 

Now she blushed, she knew not why ; 

Now a tear was in her eye ; 

Then she smiled, to hear him speak ; 

Then the tear was on her cheek ; 

Beauty^ vanish ! Gold, depart ! 

Wit has won the widow's heart ! 3ioore. 



# 



THE RAZOR- SELLER. 291 

XVIL — THE TIPPLER CONFOUNDED. 

Out of the tavern I've just stepped to-night : 
Street ! you are caught in a very bad pMght : 
Right hand and left hand are both out of place — 
Street, you are drunk, 't is a very clear case ! 

Moon, 't is a very queer figure you cut ; 
One eye is staring, while t' other is shut. 
Tipsy, I see ; and you 're greatly to blame ; 
Old as you are, 't is a horrible shame ! 

Then the street-lamps, what a scandalous sight ! 
None of them soberly standing upright ; 
Rocking and staggering ; why, on my word, 
Each of the lamps is as drunk as a lord ! 

All is confusion : — now, is n't it odd ? 

I am the only thing sober abroad ! 

Sure it were rash with this crew to remain, — 

Better go into the tavern again. 



XVni. — THE RAZOR-SELLER. 

A FELLOW, in a market-town, most musical, cried " Razors I " 
up and down, and offered twelve for eighteen-pence ; which cer-i 
tainly seemed wondrous cheap, and, for the money, quite a heap, 
as every man should buy — with cash and sense. 

A country bumpkin the great offer heard : poor Hodge, who 
suffered by a thick, black beard, that seemed a shoe-brush stuck 
beneath his nose. With cheerfulness the eighteen-pence he paid, 
and proudly to himself, in whispers, said, '' This rascal stole the 
razors, I suppose ! No matter if the fellow be a knave, provided 
that the razors shave ! It sartirdy will be a monstrous prize." 
So, home the clown with his good fortune went, smiling — in 
heart and soul content — and quickly soaped himself to ears and 
eyes. 

Being well lathered from a dish or tub, Hodge now began with 
grinning pain to grub, just like a hedger cutting furze. 'T was a 
vile razor — then the rest he tried. All were impostors. " Ah I " 
Hodge sighed, " I wish my eighteen-pence were in my purse ! " 

In vain to chase his beard, and bring the graces, he cut, and 
dug, and winced, and stamped, and swore ; brought blood, and 
danced, gaped, grinned, and made wry faces, and tried each 
razor's body o'er and o'er ! His muzzle, formed of opposition 



292 HUMOROUS PIECES. 

stuff, erect and wiry, \YOuld not lose its rulT ; so kept it — laugh- 
ing at the steel and suds. Hodge, in a passion, stretched his 
angry jaws, vowing the direst vengeance, with clinched claws, on 
the vile cheat that sold the goods. " E-azors ! a vile confounded 
dog ! Not fit to scrape a hog ! " 

Hodge sought the fellow — found him, and began — ** Perhaps, 
Master E.azor-rogue, to you 't is fun, that people flay themselves 
out of their lives. You rascal ! for an hour have I been grub- 
bing, giving my scoundrel whiskers here a scrubbing, with razors 
just like oyster-knives. Sirrah! I tell you, you're a knave, to 
cry up razors that can't shave." 

" Friend," quoth the razor-merchant, " I 'm no knave. As for 
the razors jou have bought, upon my word, I never thought that 
they would shave." — " Not think they 'd shave ! " cried Hodge, 
with wondering eyes, and voice not much unlike an Indian yell. 
^' What were they made for, then, you dog?" he cries. — 
*' Made I " quoth the fellow, with a smile, — " to sell ! " 

WOLCOTT {altered). 



XIX. — THE DIRECTING . POST. 

In winter, once, an honest traveling wight 

Pursued his road to Derby, late at night ; 

'T was very cold, the wind was bleak and high, 

And not a house nor living thing was nigh ; 

At length he came to where some four roads met, — 

it rained, too, and he was completely wet, — 

And, being doubtful which way he should take, 

He drew up to the finger-post to make 

It out — and after much of poring, fumbling, 

Some angry oaths, and a great deal of grumbling, 

'T was thus the words he traced — " To Derby — five." — 

*' A goodly distance yet, as I 'm alive ! " 

But on he drove a weary length of way. 

And wished his journey he 'd delayed till day : 

He wondered that no town appeared in view, — 

The wind blew stronger, it rained faster, too, — 

When, to his great relief, he met a man : 

" I say, good friend, pray tell me, if you can, 

How far is 't hence to Derby ? " " Derby, hey ! 

Why, zur, thee be'est completely come astray _, 

This y'ant the road." " Why, zounds, the guide-post showed 

'To Derby, five,* — and pointed down this road ! " 



ADDRESS TO AN EGYPTIAN MUMMY. 293 

" Ay, hang it, that may be, for jou maun know, 

The post it war blown down last night, and so 

This morn I put it up again, but whether — 

As I can't put great A and B together — 

The post is right, I 'm zure I can not zay : 

The town is just five miles the other way." anon. 



XX. — ADDRESS TO AN EGYPTIAN MUMMY. 

And thou hast walked about (how strange a story !) 
In Thebes's streets three thousand years ago ; 

When the Memnonium was in all its glory, 
And Time had not begun to overthrow 

Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous, 

Of which the very ruins are tremendous. 

Speak ! for thou long enough hast acted dummy ; 

Thou hast a tongue, — come, let ns hear its tune ; 
Thou 'rt standing on thy legs, above ground, Mummy ! 

Revisiting the glimpses of the moon, 
Not like thin ghosts or disembodied creatures, 
Eut with thy bones, and flesh, and limbs, and features. 

Tell us, for doubtless thou canst recollect, 

To whom should we assign the Sphinx's fame ? 

Was Cheops ^ or Ce-phre'nes architect 
Of either pyi^amid that bears his name ? 

Is Pompey's Pillar really a misnomer ? 

Had Thebes a hundred gates, as sung by Homer ? 

Perhaps thou wert a mason, and forbidden 
By oath to tell the mysteries of thy trade ; 

Then say what secret melody was hidden 

In Memnon's statue, which at sunrise played ? 

Perhaps thou wert a priest, and hast been dealing 

In human blood, and horrors past revealing. 

Perchance that very hand, now pinioned flat. 
Has hob-a-nobbed with Pharaoh, glass to glass ; 

Or dropped a halfpenny in Homer's hat, 

Or defied thine own to let Queen Dido pass, 

Or held, by Solomon's own invitation, 

A torch at the great temple's dedication. 

* The ch in this word has the sound of/:. 
25^ 



294 HUMOROUS PIECES. 

I need not ask thee if that hand, when armed, 
Has any Roman soldier mauled or knuckled. 

For thou wert dead and buried, and embalmed, 
Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckled ! 

Antiquity appears to have begun 

Long after thy primeval race was run. 

Thou couldst develop, if that withered tongue 

Might tell us what those sightless orbs have seen. 

How the world looked when it was fresh and young, 
And the great deluge still had left it green ; 

Or was it then so old that history's pages 

Contained no record of its early ages ? 

Still silent, incommunicative elf! 

Art sworn to secrecy ? then keep thy vows ; 
But prythee tell us something of thyself, 

Reveal the secrets of thy prison-house ! 
Since in the world of spirits thou hast slumbered, 
What thou hast seen, what strange adventures numbered. 

Since first thy form was in this box extended, 

We have, above-ground, seen some strange mutations ; 

The Roman empire has begun and ended, ^ 

New worlds have risen — we have lost old nations — 

And countless kings have into dust been humbled, 

While not a frao-ment of thv flesh has crumbled. 

Didst thou not hear the pother o'er thy head. 
When the great Persian conqueror, Camby'ses, 
. Marched armies o'er thy tomb with thundering tread, 
O'erthrew Osiris,. Orus, Apis, Isis, 
And shook the pyramids with fear and wonder, 
When the gigantic Memnon fell asunder ? 

If the tomb's secrets may not be confessed, 

The nature of thy private life unfold : 
A heart has throbbed beneath that leathern breast. 

And tears adown thy dusty cheek have rolled. 
Have children climbed those knees, and kissed that face ? 
What was thy name and station, age and race ? 

Statue of flesh — Immortal of th'fe dead ! 

Imperishable type of evanescence ! 
Posthumous man, who quitt'st thy narrow bed, 

And standest undecayed within our presence. 



THE DOCTOR AND HIS APPRENTICE. 295 

Thou wilt hear nothing till the judgment morning, 
When the great trump shall thrill thee with its warning ! 

Why should this worthless tegument endure, 

If its undying guest be lost for ever ? 
0, let us keep the soul embalmed and pure 

In living virtue ; that, when both must sever, 
Although corruption may our frame consume, 
The immortal spirit in the skies may bloom ! 

HORACE SMITH. 



XXL— THE DOCTOR AND HIS APPRENTICE. 

A PUPIL of the ^sculapian school,! ambitious to get on a little 
faster in physic, asked (if not againsi the rule) ;. that he might 
pay a visit with his master to his next patieni. The master 
gave consent, so off they went; and now, before the day had 
fled, behold them at a sick man's bed. ; 

The master-doctor solemnly perused' the patient's face, and o'er 
his symptoms mused ; ; looked wise, said nothing — an unerring 
way, when people nothing have to say ; — then felt his pulse and 
smelt his cane — and paused, and blinked, and smelt again, and 
went through all the customary motions, — maneuvers that for 
Death's platoon are meant ; a kind of a " Make ready and pre- 
sent," before the fell discharge of pills and potions. 

At length the patient's wife he thus addressed : " Madam, 
your husband's danger 's great, and (what will never his complaint 
abate) the man's been eating oysters, I perceive." " Dear ! 
you 're a witch, I verily believe ! " madam replied, and to the 
truth confessed. 

Skill so prodigious Bobby, too, admired, and home returning 
of the sage inquired how these same oysters came into his head. 
" Psha ! my dear Bob, the thing was plain ; sure that can ne'er 
distress thy brain; I saw the shells lie underneath the bed." 

So, wise by such a lesson grown, next day Bob ventured forth 
alone, and to the self-same sufferer paid his court. But soon, 
with haste and wonder out of breath, returned the stripling 
minister of death, and to his master made this dread report : 
" Why, sir, we ne'er can keep that patient under! Zounds ! such 
a maw I never came across ! The fellow must be dying, and no 
wonder, for hang me if he h^s n't eat a horse ! " 

" A horse ! " the elder man of physic cried, as if he meant his 
pupil to deride. " How came so wild a notion in your head ? " 
" How ! think not in my duty I was idle ; like you, I took a 
peep beneath the bed, and there I saw a saddle and a bridle I " 

ANON, {altered)^ 



296 HUMOROUS PIECES. 

XXII.— TH^^ MODERN PUFFING SYSTEM. 

FROM AN EPISTLE TO SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ. 

Unlike those feeble gales of praise 
Which critics blew in former days, 
Our modern puffs are of a kmd 
That truly, really, " raise the wind ; " 
And since they Ve fairly set in blowing, 
We find them the best " trade- winds " going. 

What steam is on the deep — and more — 
Is the vast power of Puff on shore ; 
Which jumps to glory's future tenses 
Before the present even commences, 
And makes " immortal " and " divine " of us 
Before the world has read one line of us. 

In old times, when the god of song 
Drove his own two-horse team along. 
Carrying inside a bard or two 
Booked for posterity " all through," — 
Their luggage, a few closed-packed rhymes 
(Like yours, my friend, for after-times), — 
So slow the pull to Fame's abode. 
That folks oft slumbered on the road ; 
And Homer's self, sometimes, they say, 
Took to his night-cap on the way. 

But, now, how different is the story 
With our new galloping sons of glory. 
Who, scorning all such slack and slow' time, 
Dash to posterity in no' time ! 
Raise but one general blast of Puff 
To start your author — that 's enough ! 

In vain the critics, set to watch him, 
Try at the starting-post to catch him : 
He 's off— the puffers carry it hollow — 
The critics, if they please, may follow. 
Ere they 've laid down their first positions. 
He 's fairly blown through six editions ! 

In vain doth Edinburgh^ dispense 
Her blue-and-yellow pestilence 

* An allusion to the FAinhurgh Rcviciv, the Edinburgh edition of which has 
blue covers, backed with yellow. 



PREACHING VERSUS PRACTICE. 297 

(That plague so awful, in mj time, 

To young and touelij sons of rhyme) ; — 

The Quarterly, at three months' date, 

To catch the Unread One, comes too late ; 

And nonsense, littered in a hurry. 

Becomes " immortal," spite of Murray.^ moore. 



XXrn. — MY LITTLE COUSINS. 
Laugh on, fair cousins, for to you all life is joyous yet ; 
Your hearts have all things to pursue, and nothing to regret ; 
And every flower to you is fair, and every month is May ; 
You 've not been introduced to Care, — laugh on, laugh on, to-day! 

Old Time will fling his clouds ere long upon those sunny eyes ; 
The voice, whose every word is song, will set itself to sighs ; 
Your quiet slumbers, — hopes and fears will chase their rest away ; 
To-morrow you '11 be shedding tears, — laugh on, laugh on, to-day ! 

O, yes ; if any truth is found in the dull schoolman's theme, ■ — 
If Friendship is an empty sound, and Love an idle dream, ■ — 
If Mirth, youth's playmate, feels fatigue too soon on life's long way. 
At least he '11 run with you a league, — laugh on, laugh on, to-day ! 

Perhaps your eyes may grow more bright as childhood's hues depart; 
You may be lovelier to the sight, and dearer to the heart ; 
You may be sinless still, and see this earth still green and gay ; 
But what you are you will not be, — laugh on, laugh on, to-day ! 

O'er me have many winters crept, with less of grief than joy ; 
But I have learned, and toiled, and wept, — I am no more a boy ! 
I 've never had the gout, 't is true ; my hair is hardly gray ; 
But now I can not laugh like you, — laugh on, laugh on, to-day ! 

I used to have as glad a face, as shadowless a brow ; 
I once could run as blithe a race as you are running now ; 
But never mind how I behave, — don't interrupt your play. 
And, though I look so very grave, laugh on, laugh on, to-day ! 



PRAED, 



XXIV. —PREACHING VERSUS PRACTICE. 
A YOUNGSTER at school, more sedate than the rest, 
Had once his integrity put to the test ; 
His comrades had plotted an orchard to rob, 
And asked him to go and assist in the job. 
He was shocked, sir, like you, and answered, "0, no ! 
What ! rob our good neighbor ? I pray you, don't go I 
Besides, the man 's poor, his orchard 's his bread ; 
Then think of his children, for they must be fed." 

* Murray, the publisher of the London Quarterly Review. 



298 HUMOROUS PIECES. 

*' You speak very fine, and you look very grave, 

But apples we want, and apples we '11 have : 

If you will go with us, why, you '11 have a share ; M 

If not, you shall have neither apple nor poar." 

They spoke, and Tom pondered — "I see they will go : 

Poor man ! what a pity to injure him so ! 

Poor man ! I would save him his fruit, if I could, 

But my staying behind will now do him no good. 

" If the matter depended alone upon me, 
His apples might hang till they dropped from the tree ; 
But since they will take them, I think I '11 go, too ; 
He will lose none by me, though I get a few." 

His scruples thus silenced, Tom felt more at ease, 
And went with his comrades the apples to seize ; 
He blamed and protested, but joined in the plan ; 
He shared in the plunder, but pitied the man. 

, COWPER. 

XXV. — THE OLD COTTAGE CLOCK. 

O ! THE old, old clock, of the household stock, 

Was the brightest thing and neatest ; 
Its hands, though old, had a touch of gold. 

And its chime rang still the sweetest. 
'T was a monitor, too, though its words were few, ! 

Yet they lived, though nations altered ; 
And its voice, still strong, warned old and young, 

When the voice of friendship faltered ! 
" Tick, tick," it said ; " quick, quick, to bed, — 

For ten I 've given warning ; 
Up, up, and go, or else you know 

You '11 never rise soon in the morning ! " 

A friendly voice was that old, old clock. 

As it stood in the corner smiling. 
And blessed the time with a merry chime. 

The wintry hours beguiling ; 
But a cross old voice was that tiresome clock, 

As it called at daybreak boldly. 
When the dawn looked gray o'er the misty way, 

And the early air blew coldly. 
" Tick, tick," it said ; *' quick out of bed, 

For five I 've given warning ; 
You '11 never have health, you '11 never get wealth. 

Unless you 're up soon in the morning." 

CHARLES SWAIN. 



PART X. — LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 



I.— THE DEUM. 

Yonder is a little drum, hanging on the wall ; 

Dusty wreaths and tattered flags round about it fall. 

A shepherd youth on Cheviot's hills watched the sheep whose skin 

A cunning workman wrought, and gave the little drum its din : 

And happy was the shepherd-boy whilst tending of his fold, 

Nor thought he there was in the world a spot like Cheviot's wold. 

And so it was for many a day ; but change with time will come ; 
And he — (alas for him the day !) — he heard the little drum. 
" Follow," said the drummer-boy, " would you live in story ! 
For he who strikes a foeman down wins a wreath of glory." 
'' Rub-a-dub ! a7Z6^ rz^^ -<2-^2^5 /"* the drummer beats away — 
The shepherd lets his bleating flock on Cheviot wildly stray. 

On Egypt's arid wastes of sand the shepherd now is lying ; 
Around him many a parching tongue for " water " faintly crying : 
0, that he were on Cheviot's hills, with velvet verdure spread, 
Or lying 'mid the blooming heath where oft he made his bed ! 
Or could he drink of those sweet rills that trickle to its vales, 
Or breathe once more the balminess of Cheviot's mountain gales ! 

At length upon his wearied eyes the mists of slumber come. 

And he is in his home again — till wakened by the drum ! 

"Take arms! take arms!" his leader cries; "the hated foe- 
man 's nigh ! " 

Guns loudly roar, steel clanks on steel, and thousands fall to die. 

The shepherd's blood makes red the sand: "0! water — give 
me some ! 

My voice might reach a friendly ear — but for that little drum! " 

'Mid moaning mxcn, and dying men, the drummer kept his way, 
And many a one by " glory " lured did curse the drum that day. 
" Rub-a-dub ! and rub-a-dub ! '^ the drummer beat aloud — 
The shepherd died ! and, ere the morn, the hot sand was his shroud. 
And this is " glory " ? ^ — Yes ; and still will man the tempter follow, 
Nor learn that glory, like its drum, is but a sound — and hollow. 

ANON, {altered), 

* The speaker may here imitate the action of a drummer. ^ 

299 



300 



n.— BELSHAZZAEo 

The midniglit liour was drawing on ; 

Hushed in repose lay Babylon. 

But in the palace of the king 

The herd of courtiers shout and sing : 

There, in his royal banquet-hall, 

Belshazzar holds high festival. 

The servants sit in glittering rows, 

The beakers are drained, the red wine flows ; 

The beakers clash, and the servants sing, — 

A pleasing sound to the moody king. 

The king's cheeks flush, and his wild eyes shine ; 

His spirit waxes bold with wine ; 

Until, by maddening passion stung, 

He blasphemes God with impious tongue ; 

And his proud heart swells as he wildly raves, 

'Mid shouts of applause from his fawning slaves. 

He spoke the word, and his eyes flashed flame ! 

The ready servant went and came ; 

Vessels of massy gold he bore, 

Jehovah's temple's plundered store. 

And, seizing a consecrated cup, 

The king, in his fury, fills it up : 

He fills, and hastily drains it dry, — 

From his foaming lips leaps forth the cry, 

" Jehovah ! at thee my scorn I fling ! 

I am Belshazzar, Babylon's king ! " 

Yet scarce had the impious words been said, 

When the king's heart shrank with a secret dread 

Suddenly died the shout and yell — 

A death-like hush on the tumult fell. 

And, lo ! on the wall, as they gazed aghast, 
What seemed like a human hand went past. 
And wrote — and wrote, in sight of all, 
Letters of fire upon the wall i 
The king sat still, with a stony look, — 
His trembling knees with terror shook : 
The menial throng nor spoke nor stirred ; 
Fear froze their blood, — no sound was heard ! 
The Magians came ; but none of all 
Could read the vrnting^ on the wall. 



THE RED KING S WARNING. 301 

At length, to solve those words of flame, 
Fearless, but rtieek, the prophet came ; 
One glance he gave, and all was clear ! 
" King ! there is reason in thy fear ; 
Those words proclaftn, thy empire ends — 
The day of wrath and woe impends : 
Weighed in the balance, wanting found, 
Thou and thy kingdom strike the ground." — 
That night, by the servants of his train, 
Belshazzar, the mighty king, was slain ! 

HEINE {altered), 

m.— THE RED EING'S WARNING. 

Historians relate that the dearth of William Riifu«, in the New Forest, was 
preceded by several predictions clearly announcing his fate. 

With hound and horn the wide New Forest rung, 

When William Rufas, at the bright noon-day, 
Girt by his glittering train, to saddle sprung, 

And to the chase spurred forth his gallant gray. 
O'er hill, o'er dale, the hunters held their track; 

But that gray courser, fleeter than the wind, 
Was foremost still — and as the king looked back, 

Save Tyrrell, all were far and far behind. 
Slow through a distant pass the train defiled ; 

Alone the king rode on — when in mid course, 
Lo ! rushed across his path a figure wild. 

And on his bridle-rein with giant force 

Seized ^ then swift pointing to a blighted oak. 

Thus to the astonished king his warning spoke. 

" Curb thy race of headlong speed ! 
Backward, backward turn thy steed ! 
Death is on thy onward track, — 
Turn, O, turn thy courser back ! 

" See'st thou. King, yon aged tree, — 
Blighted now, alas ! like me ? 
Once it bloomed in strength and pride, 
And my cottage stood beside ; — 

"Till on Hastings' fatal field 
England's baleful doom was sealed ! 

* The right hand should be here thrust forward, as in the act of grasp- 
ing the bridle, while the other hand should be extended, pointing to the 
supposed object. — There should be a suspensive pause at "Seized." 

26 



302 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

Till the Saxon stooped to own 
Norman lord on English throne ! 

" Where the forest holds domain, 
Then were fields of golden grain; 
Hamlets then and churches stood 
Where we see the wide waste wood. 

" But the Norman kino; must here 
Have his wood to hunt his deer. 

What were we ? He waved his hand, 

And we vanished from the land. 

" Fiercely burned my rising ire 
When I saw our cots on fire ! 
When ourselves were forced to fly, 
Or to beg, or rob, or die ! 

" Then on William's head abhorred, 

Then my deepest curse I poured. 

Turning to this aged oak. 
Thus in madness wild I spoke : 

*' * Powers of Hell, or Earth, or Air, 

Grant an injured Saxon's prayer ! 

Ne'er may one of William's race 
Pass alive this fatal place ! 

" ' Powers of Hell, or Earth, or Air, 
Grive a sign ye grant my prayer ! 

Give ! 0, give ! ' While yet I spoke, 

Lightning struck yon witness oak ! 

" Shun, King ! thy certain lot ! 

Fly with speed the fatal spot ' 



Here to death thy uncle passed ; 

Here thy nephew breathed his last ! 

" Yes, my curse has worked too well ! 
Sorrow seized me when they fell. 
Would, 0, would I might revoke 
What in madness wild I spoke ! 

Monarch ! to my words give heed, 



Backward, • — backward turn thy steed ! 
Danger, death, beset thee round ; 
Chase not on the fated ground ! " 



ENTRY OF THE AUSTRIANS INTO NAPLES. 303 

" Away," fierce William cried, " ill-boding seer ! 
TKink'st thou to strike thy sovereign's heart with fear ? — 
Think'st thou with idle threats to bar my way ? — 
— I scorn thy warning ! — On ! my gallant gray ! " 
He plunged his spurs deep in his courser's side, 
When from the blighted oak, as he advanced, 
Right to the monarch's heart an arrow glanced : 
The blood gushed forth, — he fell ! — he groaned ! — he died ! 

ANON, {altered). 



IV. —ENTRY OF THE AUSTRIANS INTO NAPLES. 

Ay, down to the dust with them, slaves as they are ! 

From this hour let the blood in their dastardly veins, 
That shrunk at the first touch of Liberty's war, 

Be wasted for tyrants, or stagnate in chains ! / ^ 

On, on, like a cloud, through their beautiful vales, ^ 

Ye locusts of tyranny, blasting them o'er ! — 
Fill, fill up their wide sunny waters, ye sails, 

From each slave=mart of Europe, and shadow their shore ! 

Let their fate be a mock-word ; let men of all lands 
Laugh out, with a scorn that shall ring to the poles, 

When each sword that the cowards let fall from their hands 
Shall be forged into fetters to enter their souls ! 

And deep, and more deep, as the iron is driven, >u.L ^ 
Base slaves ! let the whet of their agony be, J S^ 

To think — as the doomed often think of that heaven 

They had once within reach — that they might have been free ! 



I 



When the world stood in hope, — when a spirit, that breathed 

The fresh hour of the olden time, whispered about, 
And the swords of all Italy, half-way unsheathed, fJ £ 

But waited one conquering cry, to fiash out, — -^ 

§ 

When around you the shades of your mighty in fame, 
Filicajas and Petrarchs, seemed bursting to view. 

And their words and their warnings, like tongues of bright flame 
Over Freedom's apostles, fell kindling on you, — 

0, shame! that in such a proud moment of life, 

Worth the history of ages, when had you but hurled 

One bolt at your tyrant invader, that strife 

Between freemen and tyrants had spread through the world, - 



304 LYKICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

That tiien — ! disgrace upon manhood ! — even then 
You should falter, should cling to your pitiful breath, — 

Cower down into beasts, when you might have stood men, 
And prefer the slave's life of prostration to death ! 

It is strange, it is dreadful ; — shout, Tyranny ! shout 
Through your dungeons and palaces, " Freedom is o'er ! " 

Tf there lingers one spark of her life, tread it out, 

And return to your empire of darkness once more ! mooee. 



v. — "BREAKERS AHEAD." 

I ne'eh can forget it, that night of dismay ; 

Its horrors still rise in appalling array. 

No ; were I to live to a patriarch's age, 

'T will still be recorded in memory's page : 

Still rings in my ears the announcement so dread, 

Once heard, ne'er forgotten, of " breakers ahead ! " 

The breeze that kissed lightly the face of the deep 
Its billows seemed scarcely to wake from their sleep, 
And gayly our bark, like a swan in its pride, 
Was slowly and gracefully breasting the tide, 
When the voice of the mariner heaving the lead 
Rang forth the alarm of " breakers ahead ! " 

There was rushing on deck, there was running below, 
There was terror and madness, the frenzy of woe, 
The scream of dismay that pierced wildly the air. 
The agonized dumbness of silent despair ; 
And many a slumberer sprang from his bed, 
Half conscious, but echoing '^ breakers ahead ! " 

There was bending of knees, there were efforts to pray, 

From lips unaccustomed that tribute to pay ; 

While the triumph of faith in that moment was seen. 

In meek resignation depicted serene ; 

The calm, of the soul o'er the features was spread, — 

It heard without ^shrinking of " breakers ahead ! " 

There were pleadings for mercy, and vows without end. 

Petitions, and promises life to amend : 

"0, save us — we perish ! " the heart-broken cry ; 

"0, save us, poor sinners, unfitted to die ! " 

With ravings of soul, fit to waken the dead, 

All wrung by the warning of '' breakers ahead ! " 



TRUE COURAGE. LEONIDAS. 305 

Grod, in thy mercy, give us to discern 

Thy judgments impending, thy warnings to learn ; 

From reckless contempt of thy word and thy will 

Let thy Spirit of comfort deliver us still ; 

And faith in the Saviour, for sinners who bled, 

Be our safeguard and refuge 'mid " breakers ahead ! " 

COL. BLACKER. 



VI.— TRUE COURAGE. 

Onwards ! throw all terrors off ! \ 

Slight the scorner, scorn the scoff! 

In the race, and not the prize, 

Grlory's true distinction lies. 

Triumph herds with meanest things, — 

Common robbers, vilest kings, 

Midst the reckless multitude ! 

But the generous, but the good, 

Stand in modesty alone, 

Still serenely struggling on, 

Planting peacefully the seeds 

Of bright hopes and better deeds. 

Mark the slowly-moving plough : 

Is its day of victory now ? 

It defiles the emerald 'sod, 

'Whelms the flowers beneath the clod. 

Wait the swiftly coming hours, — 

Fairer green and sweeter flowers, 

Richer fruits, will soon appear. 

Cornucopias of the year ! bowring. 



VII.— LEONIDAS. 



Shout for the mighty men 

Who died along this shore, ■ — 

Who died within this mountain's glen ! 

For never nobler chieftain's head 

Was laid on Valor's crimson bed? 
Nor ever prouder gore 

Sprang forth, than theirs who won the day 

Upon thy strand, Thermopylge ! 



806 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

Shout for the mighty men, 

Who on the Persian tents. 
Like lions from their midnight den 
Bounding on the slumbering deer, 
E-ushed — a storm of sword and spear ; — 

Like the roused elements 
Let loose from an immortal hand, 
To chasten or to crush a land ! 

But there are none to hear ; 

Greece is a hopeless slave. 
Leonidas ! no hand is near 
To lift thy fiery falchion now : 
No warrior makes the warrior's vow 

Upon thy sea-washed grave. 
The voice that should be raised by men 
Must now be given by wave and glen. 

And it is given ! — the surge, 

The tree, the rock, the sand, 
On Freedom's kneeling spirit urge, 
In sounds that speak but to the free, 
The memory of thine and thee ! 

The vision of thy band 
Still gleams within the glorious dell 
Where their gore hallowed, as it fell ! 

And is thy grandeur done ? 

Mother of men like these ! 
Has not thy outcry gone 
Where Justice has an ear to hear ? 
Be holy ! Grod shall guide thy spear, 

Till in thy crimsoned seas 
Are plunged the chain and scimitar ; 
Greece shall be a new-born star ! croly. 



VIIL — THE FALL OF D'ASSAS. 

Alone, through gloomy forest shades, 

A soldier went by night ; 
No moonbeam pierced the dusky glades^ 

No star shed guiding light. 

Yet, on his vigil's midnight round. 
The youth all cheerly passed ! 

Unchecked by aught of boding sound 
That muttered in the blast. 



THE FOURTH OF JULY. 307 

4 

Where were his thoughts that lonely hour ? — 

In his far home, perchance — 
His father's hall, his mother's bower — 

'Midst the gay vines of France. 

Hush ! hark ! did stealing steps go by ? 

Came not faint whispers near? 
No ! — The wild wind hath many a sigh 

Amidst the foliage sere. 

Hark ! yet again ! ■ — and from his hand 
What grasp hath wrenched the blade ? 

0, single, midst a hostile band. 
Young soldier, thou 'it betrayed ! 

" Silence ! " in under-tones they cry, 

" No whisper ! — not a breath ! 
The sound that warns thy comrades nigh 

Shall sentence thee to death ! " 

Still at the bayonet's point he stood, 

And, strong to meet the blow. 
He shouted, mid his rushing blood, 

" Arm ! arm ! Auvergne ! ^ — the foe ! " 

The stir, the tramp, the bugle-call — 

He heard their tumults grow ; 
And sent his dying voice through all, — 

" Auvergne I Auvergne ! — the foe ! " 

MRS. HEMANS. 



IX. — THE FOUETH OF JULY. 

To the sages who spoke, to the heroes who bled, 

To the day and the deed, strike the harp-strings of glory ! 
Let the sons; of the ransomed remember the dead, 
And the tongue of the eloquent hallow the story ! 
O'er the bones of the bold 
Be that story long told, 
And on Fame's golden tablets their triumphs enrolled, 
Who on Freedom's green hills Freedom's banner unfurled, 
And the beacon-fire raised that gave light to the world ! 

They are gone — mighty men ! — and they sleep in their fame 
Shall we ever forget them? 0, never! no, never! 

* Pronounced O-v'ern. 



308 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

Let our sons learn from us to embalm each great name, 
And the anthem send down, — " Independence forever ! " 
Wake, wake, heart and tongue ! 
Keep the theme ever joung ; 
Let their deeds through the long line of ages be sung, 
Who on Freedom's green hills Freedom's banner unfurled, 
And the beacon-fire raised that gave light to the world ! 

CHARLES SPRAGUE. 



X.— THE SEED OF FREEDOM'S TREE. 

Stanzas to the memory of the Spanish patriots, killed in resisting the 
Regency and the Duke of Angouleme. 

Brave men, who at the Trocade'ro fell 

Beside your cannons, conquered not, though slain, 
There is a victory in dying well 

For Freedom, — and ye have not died in vain ; 

For, come what may, there shall be hearts in Spain 
To honor, ay, embrace your martyred lot, 

Cursing the bigot's and the Bourbon's chain, 
And looking on your graves, though trophied not, 
As holier hallowed ground than priests could make the spot ! 

What though your cause be baffled, freemen cast 

In dungeons, dragged to death, or forced to flee ? 
Hope is not withered in Affliction's blast ; 

The patriot's blood 's the seed of Freedom's tree ! 

And short your orgies of revenge shall be. 
Cowled demons of the Inquisitorial cell ! 

Earth shudders at your victory ! for ye 
Are worse than common fiends from heaven that fell, 
The baser, ranker sprung Autochthones^ of hell ! 

Gro to your bloody rites again ! Bring back 

The hall of horrors and the assessor's pen, 
Recording answers shrieked upon the rack ! 

Smile o'er the gaspings of spine-broken men ! 

Preach, perpetrate damnation in your den ! — 
Then let your altars, ye blasphemers ! peal 

With thanks to Heaven, that let you loose again. 
To practice deeds with torturing fire and steel 
No eye may search, no tongue may challenge or reveal ! 

* Pronounced or-tok'tho-neez. The word means of the land itself y or aborigi- 
nal inhabitants ; natives of the soil as distinguished from settlera. 



THE mariner's SONG. 309 

Yet, laugh not in your carnival of crime 

Too proudly, ye oppressors ! Spain was free ! 
Her soil has felt the footprints, and her clime 

Been winnowed by the wings of Liberty ; 

And these, even parting, scatter, as they flee, 
Thoughts, influences, to live in hearts unborn ; 

Opinions that shall wrench the prison-key 
From Persecution, show her mask ofi'-torn. 
And tramp her bloated head beneath the foot of Scorn ! 

Glory to those that die in this great cause ! 

Kings, bigots, can inflict no brand of shame. 
Or shape of death, to shroud them from applause : 

No ! manglers of the martyr's earthly frame I 

Your hangmen fingers can not touch his fame. 
Still in your prostrate land there shall be some 

Proud hearts, the shrines of Freedom's vestal flame. 
Long trains of ill may pass unheeded, dumb ; 
But Vengeance is behind, and Justice is to come ! 

CAMPBELL. 



XL— THE MARINER'S SONG. 

A WET sheet and a flowino^ sea, 

A wind that follows fast, 
And fills the white and rustling sail, 

And bends the gallant mast ; 
And bends the gallant mast, my boys, 

While, like the eagle free, 
Away the good ship flies, and leaves 

Old England on the lee. 

" ! for a soft and gentle wind ! " 

I heard a fair one cry ; 
But give to me the snoring breeze, 

And white waves heaving high ; 
And white waves heaving high, my boys, 

The good ship tight and free. 
The world of waters is our home, 

And merry men are we. 

There 's tempest in yon horned moon, 
And lightning in yon cloud ; 

And hark the music, mariners, 
The wind is piping loud ; 



310 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

The wind is piping loud, my boys, 

The lightning flashes free, 
While the hollow oak our palace is, 

Our heritage the sea. allan Cunningham, 



XIL — THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. 

Ye who love the haunts of Nature, love the sunshine of the 
meadow, love the shadow of the forest, love the wind among the 
branches, and the rain-shower and the snow-storm, and the rush- 
ing of great rivers through their palisades of pine-trees, and the 
thunder in the mountains, whose innumerable echoes flap like 
eagles in their eyries,* — listen to these wild traditions, to this 
Song of Hiawatha ! 1 

Ye who love a nation's legends, love the ballads of a people, 
that, like voices from afar ofl^, call to us to pause and listen, 
speak in tones so plain and childlike, scarcely can the ear dis- 
tinguish whether they are sung or spoken, — listen to this Indian 
legend, to this Song of Hiawatha ! 

Ye whose hearts are fresh and simple, who have faith in Grod 
and Nature, who believe that in all ages every human heart is 
human ; that, in even savage bosoms, there are longings, yearn- 
ings, strivings, for the good they com^prehend not ; that the 
feeble hands and helpless, groping blindly in the darkness, touch 
God's right hand in the darkness, and are lifted up and strength- 
ened, — listen to this simple story, to this Song of Hiawatha ! 

Ye who sometimes in your rambles through the green lanes of 
the country, where the tangled barberry-bushes hang their tufts 
of crimson berries over stone walls gray with mosses, pause by 
some neglected grave-yard, for a while to muse and ponder on a 
half-effaced inscription, writ with little skill of song-craft, homely 
phrases, but each letter full of hope and yet of heart-break, full 
of all the tender pathos of the Here and the Hereafter, — stay 
and read this rude inscription, read this song of Hiawatha ! 

LONGFELLOW. 



XIIL — THE GRAVE. 

Blest are the dormant 

In death ! They repose 
From bondage and torment, 

From passions and woes, 

* Pronounced d'riz, f Pronounced He-a-wa'tha, the second a as mfall. 



THE TWO RETURNED TOURISTS 311 

From the yoke of the world and the snares of the traitor ! 
The grave, the grave is the true liberator ! 

Griefs chase one another 

Around the earth's dome ; 
In the arms of our mother 
Alone is our home. 
Woo pleasure, ye triflers ! The thoughtful are wiser ; 
The grave, the grave is their one tranquillizer ! 

Is the good man unfriended 

On life's ocean-path, 
Where storms have expended 
Their turbulent wrath ? 
Are his labors requited by slander and rancor ? 
The grave, the grave is his sure bower-anchor ! 

To gaze on the faces 

Of lost ones anew — 
To lock in embraces 

The loved and the true — 
Were a rapture to make even Paradise brighter ; 
The grave, the grave is the great reiiniter ! 

Crown the corpse, then, with laurels, — - 

The conqueror's wreath ! 
Make joyous with chorals 
The chamber of death ; 
And welcome the victor with cymbal and psalter — 
The grave, the grave is the only exalter ! 

S. A. WAHLMANN. 



XW. — THE TWO RETURNED TOURISTS. 

Two travelers through the gateway went 
To the glorious Alpine world's ascent : 
The one, he folloFcd Fashion's behest, 
The other felt the glow in his breast. 

And when the two came home again, 

Their kin all clustered round the men : 

'T was a buzz of questions on every side. 

" And what have you seen ? — do tell ! " they cried. 

The one with yawning made reply : 

'* What have we seen ? — • Not much have I ! 



812 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

n Trees, meadows, mountains, groves, and streams, 

'' Blue sky and clouds, and sunny gleams." 

The other, smiling, said the same ; 

But with face transfigured and eye of flame : 

" Trees, meadows, mountains, groves, and streams ! 

Blue sky and cloud, and sunny gleams ! " 

FROM THE GERMAN, BY C. T. BROOKS. 



XV. — RIENZI TO THE ROMAN CONSPIRATORS IN 1847 

BoMANS ! look round jou — on this sacred place 

There once stood shrines, and gods, and godlike men. 
What see you now ? — what solitary trace 

Is left of all that made Bome's glory then ? 
The shrines are sunk, the Sacred Mount bereft 

Even of its nanie — and nothing now remains 
But the deep memory of that glory, left 

To whet our pangs and aggravate our chains ! 
But shall this be ? Our sun and sky the same, — 

Treading the very soil our fathers trod, — 
What withering curse hath fallen on soul and frame, 

What visitation hath there come from God, 
To blast our strength, and rot us into slaves. 
Here, on our great forefathers' glorious graves ? 
It can not be ! Eise up, ye mighty dead, — 

If we, the living, are too weak to crush 
These tyrant priests, that o'er your empire tread. 

Till all but Bomans at Bome's tameness blush ! 

Happy, Palmyra, in thy desert domes. 

Where only date-trees sigh, and serpents hiss ! 
And thou, whose pillars are but silent homes 

For the stork's brood, superb Per-sep'olis ! 
Thrice happy both, that your extinguished race 
Have left no embers — no half-living trace — 
No slaves, to crawl around the once proud spot, 
Till past renown in present shame 's forgot ; 
While Borne, the queen of all, whose very wrecks, 

If lone and lifeless through a desert hurled, 
Would wear more true magnificence than decks 

The assembled thrones of all the existing world — 
Bome, Bome alone is haunted, stained, and cursed, 

Through every spot her princely Tiber laves, 



THE POUNDER. 313 

By living human things — the deadliest, worst, 

This earth engenders — tyrants and their slaves ! 
And we — 0, shame ! — we, who have pondered o'er 

The patriot's lesson, and the poet's lay ; 
Have mounted up the streams of ancient lore, 

Tracking our country's glories all the way — 
Even we have tamely, basely kissed the ground, 

Before that tyrant power, that ghost of her, 
The world's imperial mistress — sitting, crowned 

And ghastly, on her mouldering sepulcher ! 

But this is past ! — too long have lordly priests 
And priestly lords led us, with all our pride 

Withering about us, — like devoted beasts. 

Dragged to the shrine, with faded garlands tied. 

'Tis o'er — the dawn of our deliverance breaks ! 

Up from his sleep of centuries awakes 

The Genius of the old republic, free 

As first he stood, in chainless majesty. 

And sends his voice through ages yet to come, 

Proclaiming Rome, Rome, Rome, Eternal Rome ! 

THOMAS MOORE. 



XVI. — THE POUNDER. 



*' I have read, friend Sancho, that a certain Spanish knight, whose name was 
Diego Perez de Vargas, having broken his sword in the heat of an engage- 
ment, piilled up by the roots a wild olive-tree, — or at least tore down a 
massy branch, — and did such wonderful execution, crushing and grinding 
so many Moors with it that day, that he won himself and his posterity the 
surname of The Pounder, or Bruiser," — Don Quixote. 

The Christians have beleaguered the famous walls of Xe'res ; 
Among them are Don Alvar and Don Diego Perez, 
And many other gentlemen, who, day succeeding day, 
Give challenge to the Saracen and all his chivalry.* 

When racjes the hot battle before the crates of Xeres, 

By trace of gore ye may explore the dauntless path of Perez. 

No knight like Don Diego, no sword like his is found. 

In all the host, to hew the boast of Paynims to the ground. 

It fell one day, when furiously they battled on the plain, 
Diego shivered both his lance and trusty blade in twain; 

* This word being derived from the French, the ch should have the sound 
of sh. Pronounced sJuv'ahy, 

27 



314 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

The Moors that saw it shouted, for esquire none was near, 
To serve Diego at his need with falchion, mace, or spear. 

Loud, loud he blew his bugle, sore troubled was his eye, 
But, by God's grace, before his face there stood a tree full nigh ; 
An olive-tree with branches strong, close by the wall of Xeres, ■ — 
'^ Yon goodly bough will serve, I trow," quoth Don Diego Perez. 

A gnarled branch he soon did wrench down from that olive strong. 
Which o'er his head-piece brandishing, he spurs among the throng; 
Ah ha ! full many a pagan must in his saddle reel ! 
What leech may cure, what beadsman shrive, if once that weight 
ye feel ? 

But when Don Alvar saw him thus bruising down the foe, 
Quoth he, " I 've seen some flail-armed men belabor barley so ; 
Sure, mortal mould did ne'er enfold such mastery of power ; 
Let 's call Diego Perez the pounder from this hour ! " 

LOCKHART. 



XVII. — BALBOA'S DISCOVERY OF THE PACIFIC. 

From San Domingo's crowded wharf Fernandez' vessel bore. 
To seek in unknown lands afar the Indian's golden ore ; 
And, hid among the freighted casks, where none might see or know. 
Was one of Spain's immortal men, three hundred years ago. 

But when the fading town and land had dropped below the sea, 

He met the captain face to face, and not a fear had he ! 

*' What villain thou ? " Fernandez cried ; "and wherefore serve 

us so ? " — 
" To be thy follower," he replied, — three hundred years ago. 

He wore a manly form and face, a courage firm and bold. 
His words fell on his comrades' hearts like precious drops of gold : 
They saw not his ambitious soul ; he spoke it not — for, lo I 
He stood among the common ranks, three hundred years ago. 

But when Fernandez' vessel lay at golden Darien, 
A murmur, born of discontent, grew loud among the men ; 
And with the word there came the act ; and with the sudden blow. 
They raised Balbo'a from the ranks, three hundred years ago. 

And while he took command beneath the banner of his lord, 
A mighty purpose grasped his soul, as he had grasped his sword : 
He saw the mountain's far blue height whence golden waters flow ; 
Then with his men he scaled the crags, three hundred years ago. 



THE DAYS OF YOUTH. 315 

He led them up through tangled brakes, the rivulet's slidmg bed, 
And through the storm of poisoned darts, from many an ambush 

shed ; 
He gained the turret crag, alone, — and wept to see below 
An ocean, boundless and unknown, three hundred jears ago. 

And while he raised upon the height the banner of his lord, 
The mighty purpose grasped him stiil, as still he grasped his sword ; 
Then down he rushed with all his men, as headlong rivers flow, 
And plunged breast-deep into the sea, three hundred years ago. 

And while he held above his head the conquering flag of Spain, 
He waved his gleaming sword, and smote the waters of the mai^i : 
For Kome ! for Leon ! for Castile ! thrice gave the cleaving blow ; 
And thus Bal-bo'a claimed the sea, three hundred years ago. 

T. B. READ. 



XVin.— THE DAYS OF YOUTH. 

Give me, ! give me back the days 

When I — I, too, was young, 

And felt, as they now feel, each coming hour, 

New consciousness of power. 

! happy, happy time, above all praise ! 

Then thoughts on thoughts and crowding fancies sprung, 

And found a language in unbidden lays ; 

Unintermitted streams from fountains ever flowing ! 

Then, as I wandered free, 

In every field, for me 

Its thousand flowers were blowing ! 

A veil through which I did not see, 

A thin veil o'er the world was thrown, — 

In every bud a mystery ! 

Magic in every thing unknown ! 

The field, the grove, the air, was haunted, 

And all that age has disenchanted ! 

Yes ! give me — give me back the days of youth, 

Poor, yet how rich ! — my glad inheritance 

The inextinguishable love of truth. 

While life's realities were all romance ! 

Give me, ! give youth's passions unconfined, 

The rush of joy that felt almost like pain. 

Its hate, its love, its own tumultuous mind ; — 

Give me my youth again ! 

GOETHE (translated by ATister}, 



316 LYUICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 



XIX. — THE VENGEANCE OF JVIUDAEA. 

To the eliase goes Eoclrigo,'^ with hound and with hawk ; 

But what game he desires is revealed in his talk : 

" 0, in vain have I slaughtered the Infants of Lara ; 

There 's an heir in his hall, — there 's the stripling Mudura, — 

There 's the son of the renegade, — spawn of Mahoun : 

If I meet with Mudara, my spear brings him down." 

While Rodrigo rides on in the heat of his wrath, 

A stripling, armed cap-a-pee, crosses his path : 

" Good-morrow, young esquire." — " Grood-morrovr, old knight." 

" "Will you ride with our party, and share our delight? " — 

" Speak your name, courteous stranger," the young man replied; 

*' Speak your name and your lineage, ere with you I ride." — 

" My name is Eodrig©," thus answered the knight ; 

" Of the line of old Lara, though barred from my right ; 

For the kinsman of Salas proclaims for the heir 

Of our ancestor's castles and forestries fair 

A stripling, a renegade's offspring — Mudara, — 

Whom I 'il send, if I can, to the Infants of Lara." — 

" I behold thee, disgrace to thy lineage ! — with joy 
I behold thee, thou murderer ! " answered the boy : 
*' The stripling you curse, you behold him in me ; 
But his brothers' avenger that stripling shall be. 
Draw ! for I am the renegade's offspring — Mudara, — 
We shall see who inherits the life-blood of Lara ! " — 

" I am'^armed for the forest chase — not for the fight ; 

Let me go for my shield and my sword," cries the knight. — 

" Now the mercy you dealt to my brothers of old, — 

Be the hope of that mercy the comfort you hold ! 

Die, foeman to Sancha — die, traitor to Lara ! " 

As he spake, there was blood on the spear of Mudara. 

LOCKHART {altered). 



XX.— THE PROGRESS OF MADNESS. 

Stay, jailer ! stay, and hear my woe ! 

He is not mad who kneels to thee ; 
For what I 'm now too well I know. 

And what I was — and what should be ! 

* The i in this word has the sound of long e, as in me. 



THE PROGRESS OF MADNESS. 31 

I '11 rave no more in proud despair — 
My language shall be mild, though sad ; 

But yet I '11 firmly, truly swear, 
I am not mad ! I am not mad ! 

My tyrant foes have forged the tale, 

Which chains me in this dismal cell ! 
My fate unknown my friends bewail — 

! jailer, haste that fate to tell ! 

! haste my father's heart to cheer ; 

His heart at once 't will grieve and glad, 
To know, though chained a captive here, 

1 am not mad ! I am not mad ! 

He smiles in scorn — he turns the key — 

He quits the grate — I knelt in vain ! 
His glimmering lamp stiil, still I see — 

'T is gone — and all is gloom again ! 
Cold, bitter cold ! — no warmth, no light ! 

Life, all thy comforts once I had ! 
Yet here I 'm chained, this freezing night, 

Although not mad ! no, no — not mad ! 

'T is sure some dream — some vision vain ! 

What ! I — the child of rank and wealth — 
Am I the wretch who clanks this chain. 

Bereft of freedom, friends, and health ? 
Ah ! while I dwell on blessings fied. 

Which never more my heart must glad, 
How aches my heart, how burns my head ! 

But 't is not mad ! it is not mad ! 

Hast thou, my child, forgot e'er this 
A parent's face, a parent's tongue ? 

1 '11 ne'er forget thy parting kiss, 

Nor round my neck how fast you clung ! 
Nor how with me you sued to stay, 

Nor how that suit my foes forbade ; 
Nor how — I '11 drive such thoughts away — 

They '11 make me mad ! they '11 make me mad ! 

Thy rosy lips, how sweet they smiled ! 

Thy mild blue eyes, how bright they shone ! 
None ever saw a lovelier child ! 

And art thou now for ever gone ? 

27^ 



318 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

And must I never see thee more, 
My pretty,^ gracious, noble lad ? — 

I will be free ! Unbar the door ! 
I am not mad ! I am not mad ! 

0, hark ! what mean those yells and cries ? 

His chain some furious madman breaks ! 
He comes ! I see his glaring eyes ! 

Now, now, my dungeon grate he shakes ! 
Help ! help ! — he 's gone ! 0, fearful woe, 

Such screams to hear, such sights to see ! 
My brain, my brain ! I know, I know, 

I am not mad — but soon shall be ! 

Yes, soon ; for, lo ! now, while I speak, 

Mark how yon demon's eyeballs glare ! 
He sees me — now, with dreadful shriek, 

He whirls a serpent high in air ! 
Horror ! the reptile strikes his tooth 

Deep in my heart, so crushed and sad ! 
Ay, laugh, ye fiends ! I feel the truth ! 

Your task is done — I 'm mad ! I 'm mad ! 

M. G. LEWIS {altered). 



XXI.— SEIZE THE PRESENT HOUR. 

Enjoy the present smiling hour. 
And put it out of fortune's power ! 
The tide of business, like the morning stream. 

Is sometimes high, and sometimes low, 

And always in extreme. 
Now with a noiseless gentle course 
It keeps within the middle bed ; 
Anon it lifts aloft the head. 
And bears down all before it with impetuous force ; 
And trunks of trees come rolling down ; 
Sheep and their folds together drown : 
Both house and homestead into seas are borne ; 
And rocks are from their old foundations torn ; 
And woods, made thin with winds, their scattered honors mourn. 

Happy the man, and happy he alone, 
He who can call to-day his own : 
He who, secure within, can say, 

* Pronounced prit'ty. — -See Sargent's Standard Speller, p. 44. 



FLORA MACIVOR S STOIMONS. 319 

To-MOSROTV, do thy worst, for I have lived to-day ! 

Be fair or foul, or rain or shine, 
The joys I hate possessed, in spite of fate, are mine. 
Not heaven itself upon the past has power ; 
But what has been, has been, and I have had my hour. 
Fortune, that with malicious joy 
Does man, her slave, oppress, 
Proud of her office to destroy, 
Is seldom pleased to bless : 
Still various, and inconstant still. 
But with an inclination to be ill. 

Promotes, degrades, delights in strife, 
And makes a lottery of life. 
I can enjoy her while she 's kind; 
But when she dances in the wind. 

And shakes her wings and will not stay, 
I puff the runagate away : 
The little or the much she gave is quietly resigned : 
Content with poverty, my soul I arm ; 
And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm. 

What is 't to me, who never sail in her unfaithful sea, 
If storms arise, and clouds grow black ; 
If the mast split, and threaten wreck ? 
Then let the greedy merchant fear 
For his ill-gotten gain ; 
And pray to gods that will not hear, 
While the debating winds and billows bear 
His wealth into the main. 
For me, secure from fortune's blows, 
Secure of what I cannot lose. 
In my small pinnace I can sail. 

Contemning all the blustering roar : 
And running with a merry gale. 
With friendly stars my safety seek 
Within some little winding creek, 

And see the storm ashore. drtden. 



XXn. — FLORA IVIACIVOR'S SIBOIONS. 

There is mist on the mountain, and night on the vale, 
But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the G-ael. 
A stranger commanded — it sank on the land. 
It has frozen each heart, and benumbed every hand ! 



320 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

The dirk and the target lie sordid with dust, 
The bloodless clay-more' is but reddened with rust ; 
On the hill or the glen if a gun should appear, 
It is only to war with the heath-cock or deer. 

The deeds of our sires if our bards should rehearse, 
Let a blush or a blow be the meed of their verse ! 
Be mute every string, and be hushed every tone. 
That shall bid us remember the fame that is flown. 

But the dark hours of night and of slumber are past, 
The morn on our mountains is dawning at last ; 
Grlen-aradale's peaks are illumed with the rays. 
And the streams of Glen-fin'nan leap bright in the blaze. 

O, high-minded Mo'ray ! — the exiled ! — the dear ! — 
In the blush of the dawning the Standard uprear ! 
Wide, wide on the winds of the north let it fly. 
Like the sun's latest flash when the tempest is nigh ! 

Ye sons of the strong, when that dawning shall break, 
Need the harp of the aged remind you to wake ? 
That dawn never beamed on your forefathers' eye 
But it roused each high chieftain to vanquish or die. 

Awake on your hills, on your islands awake, 
Brave sons of the mountain, the frith, and the lake ! 
'T is the bugle — but not for the chase is the call ; 
'T is the pibroch's shrill summons — but not to the hall, 

'T is the summons of heroes for conquest or death. 
When the banners are blazing on mountain and heath ; 
They call to the dirk, the clay-more', and the targe, 
To the march and the muster, the line and the charge. 

Be the brand of each chieftain like Fin's in his ire ! 
May the blood through his veins flow like currents of fire ! 
Burst the base foreign yoke as your sires did of yore ! 
Or die, like your sires, and endure it no more ! 

SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



XXm. — THE LORD OF BUTRAGO. 

(The incident to which the following ballad relates is supposed to have occun*ed on the 
famous field of Aljubarrota, where King Juan the First, of Castile, was defeated by the 
Portuguese. The king, who was at the time in a feeble state of health, exposed him- 
self very much during the action ; and, being wounded, had great difiiculty in making 
his escape. The battle was fought A. D. 1385. 

** Your horse is faint, my king — my lord ! Your gallant horse ls sick, — 
His limbs are torn, his breast is gored, on his eye the film is thick ; 



BERNARDO AND ALFONZO 321 

Mount, mount on mine, — 0, mount apace, I pray thee, mount and fly ! 
Or in my arms I '11 lift your grace, — their trampling hoofs are nigh ! 

" My king — my king ! you 're wounded sore : the blood runs from your 

feet ; 
But only lay a hand before, and I '11 lift you to your seat : 
Mount, Juan, for they gather fast ! I hear their coming cry ! 
Mount, mount, and ride for jeopardy — I '11 saye you, though I die ! 

" Stand, noble steed ! this hour of need be gentle as a lamb : 
I '11 kiss the foam. from off thy mouth — thy master, dear, I am ! 
Mount, Juan, mount ! whate'er betide ; away the bridle fling. 
And plunge the rowels in his side 1 My horse shall save my king ! 

" Nay, never speak ; my sires. Lord King, received their land from yours, 
And joyfully their blood shall spring, so be it thine secures : 
If I should fly, and thou, my king, be found among the dead, 
How could I stand 'mong gentlemen, such scorn on my gray head ? 

" Castile's proud dames shall never point the finger of disdain, 

Ajid say, There 's one who ran away when our good king was slain ! 

I leave Diego in your care ; you '11 fill his father's place : 

Strike, strike the spur, and never spare ! God's blessing on your grace ! " 

So spake the brave Montanez, — Butrago's lord was he, — 
And turned him to the coming host in steadfastness and glee ; 
He flung himself among them as they came down the hill ; 
He fought — he died, but not before his sword had drunk its fill ! 

LOCKHART. 



XXIY. — BERNARDO ANT) ALFONZO.* 

Have ye heard of King Alfonzo — how he pledged his royal truth 
To restore Bernardo's father, Don Sancho, to the youth ? 
But when Bernardo, full of hope, came forth his sire to hail. 
He found his stiffened corpse instead, on horseback, clad in jnail ! 

With some good ten of his chosen men Bernardo hath appeared. 
Before them all in the palace hall, the lying king to beard : 
With cap in hand and eye on ground, he came in reverend guise, 
But ever and anon he frowned, and flame broke from his eyes ! 

" A curse upon thee," cries the king, *' who com'st unbid to me ! 
But what from traitor's blood should spring, save traitor like to thee ? 
His sire, lords, had a traitor's heart, — perchance our champion brave 
May think it were a pious part to share Don Sancho 's grave." — 

" Whoever told this tale the king, hath rashness to repeat," 
Cries Bernard; — ** here my gage I fling before the liar's feet ! 
No treason was in Sancho's blood, — no stain in mine doth lie : 
Below the throne what knight will own the coward calumny ? 

* To introduce the subject more distinctly to the hearer, we have added 
the first stanza above to Lockhart's admirable version. 



322 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

*' Ye swore, upon your kingly faith, to set my fiither free ; 
But, curse upon your paltering breath ! the light he ne'er did see : 
He died in dungeon cold and dim, by Alfonzo's base decree ; 
And visage blind, and stiffened limb, were all they gave to me. 

" The king that swerveth from his word hath stained his purple black : 
No Spanish lord will draw the sword behind a liar's back. 
But noble vengeance shall be mine ; an open hate I '11 show; — 
The king hath injured Carpio's line, and Bernard is his foe ! " — 

" Seize — seize him ! " loud the king doth scream : " there are a thousand 

here ; 
Let his foul blood this instant stream ! — What ! caitiffs, do ye fear ? 
Seize, seize the traitor ! " But not one to move a finger dareth : 
Bernardo standeth by the throne, and calm his sword he bareth. 

He drew the falchion from its sheath, and held it up on high ; * 
And all the hall was still as death. — Cries Bernard, " Here am I ; 
And here 's the sword that owns no lord, excepting Heaven and me : 
Fain would I know who dares its point, — king, conde, or grandee." 

Then to his mouth his horn he drew — (it hung below his cloak) ; 
His ten true men the signal knew, and through the ring they broke. 
With helm on head, and blade in hand, the knights the circle brake. 
And back the lordlings 'gan to stand, and the false king to quake. 

'' Ha ! Bernard ! " quoth Alfonzo, «' what means this warlike guise? 
Ye know full well I jested ; — ye know your worth I prize ! " 
But Bernard turned upon his heel, and, smiling, passed away : 
Long rued Alfonzo and Castile the jesting of that day ! LOCKHART, 



XXV. — REGULUS.t 



Urge me no more — your prayers are in vain, 

And even the tears ye shed ; 
When Reg'ulus can lead again 

The bands that once he led ,* 
When he can raise your legions slain 
On swarthy Lybia's fatal plain 

To vengeance from the dead ; 
Then will he seek once more a home, 
And lift a freeman's voice in Rome ! 

* Here is an opportunity for the picturesque imitative action of drawing 
a sword and holding it up on high. But the action, if ventured on at all, 
must be correctly imitative. The left hand should first rise to the hip, as if 
to hold the scabbard ; and the right arm, in drawing the sword, must not be 
curved across the body, but straightly drawn out, as if it had a yard of steel 
behind it. The speaker should rise to his full height, and stretch his arm 
up perpendicularly (the hand closed as if grasping a sword), while uttering 
Bernard's splendid defiance. 

t See the story of Regulus, page 195. 



REGULUS. 323 

Accursed moment ! when I woke 

From faintness all but death, 
And felt the coward conqueror's yoke 

Like venomed serpents wreathe 
Kound every limb ! — If Up and eye 
Betrayed no sign of agony, 

Inly I cursed my breath ! — 
Wherefore, of all that fought, was I 
The only wretch who could not die ? 

To darkness and to chains consigned, 

The captive's blighting doom, 
I recked not ; — could they chain the miiid^ 

Or plunge the soul in gloom ? 
And there they left me, dark and lone, 
Till darkness had familiar grown ; 

Then from that living tomb 
They led me forth, — I thought to die, — 

! in that thought was ecstasy ! 

But no — kind Heaven had yet in store 

For me, a conquered slave, 
A joy I thought to feel no more, 

Or feel but in the grave. 
They deemed perchance my haughtier mood 
Was quelled by chains and solitude ; 

That he who oTice was brave — 
Was I not brave ? — had now become 
Estranged from honor as from Rome ! 

They bade me to my country bear 

The offers these have borne ; — 
They would have trained my lips to swear, 

Which never yet have sworn ! 
Silent their base commands I heard ; 
At length, I pledged a Roman's word 

Unshrinking to return. 

1 go, prepared to meet the worst. 
But I shall gall proud Carthage first ! 

They sue for peace, — I bid you spurn 

The gilded bait they bear ! 
I bid you still, with aspect stern. 

War, ceaseless war, declare ! 



324 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

Fools that they were, could not mine eye, 
Through their dissembled calmness, spy 

The struggles of despair ? 
Else had they sent this wasted frame, 
To bribe you to your country's shame ? 

Your land — (I must not call it mine ; 

No country has the slave ; 
His father's name he must resign, 

And even his father's grave — 
But this not now) — beneath her lies 
Proud Carthage and her destinies : 

Her empire o'er the wave 
Is yours ; she knows it well — and you 
Shall know, and make her feel it, too ! 

Ay, bend your brows, ye ministers 

Of coward hearts, on me ! 
Ye know no longer it is hers, 

The empire of the sea ; — 
Ye know her fleets are far and few, 
Her bands, a mercenary crew ; 

And Rome, the bold and free, 
Shall trample on her prostrate towers, 
Despite your weak and wasted powers. 

One path alone remains for me ; — 
My vows were heard on high. 

Thy triumphs, Rome, / shall not see, 
For I return to die. 

Then tell not 7ne of hope or life ; 

I have in Rome no chaste, fond wife, 
No smiling progeny. 

One word concenters for the slave — 

Wife, children, country, all the grave 



DALE. 



XXVL — WHAT MAKES A KING.* 

'T IS not wealth that makes a king, 
Nor the purple's coloring. 
Nor a brow that 's bound with gold. 
Nor gates on mighty hinges rolled. 

* This beautiful piece is a translation of part of a chorus in Seneca's 
Thyestes. 



WHAT MAKES A KING. 325 

The king is he who, void of fear, 
Looks abroad with bosom clear ; 
Who can tread ambition down. 
Nor be swayed by smile or frown ; 
Nor for all the treasure cares 
That mine conceals or harvest wears, 
Or that golden sands deliver, 
Bosomed in a glassy river. 

What shall move his placid might ? 
Not the headlonn; thunder-lio-ht, 
Nor the storm that rushes out 
To snatch the shivering waves about, 
Nor all the shapes of slaughter's trade, 
With forward lance, or fiery blade. 
Safe with wisdom for his crown, 
He looks on all things calmly down ; 
He welcomes fate, when fate is near, 
Nor taints his dying breath with fear. 

Grant that all the kings assemble, 
At whose head the Scythians tremble ; — 
Grant that in the train be they 
Whom the Red Sea shores obey. 
Where the gems and crystal caves 
Sparkle up through purple waves ; 
Bring with these the Caspian stout, 
Who scorns to shut the invader out ; . 
And the daring race that tread 
The rocking of the Danube's bed ; 
With those again, where'er they be, 
Who, lapped in silken luxury, 
Feed to the full their lordly will ; — 
The noble mind is monarch still. 

No need has he of vulgar force, 
Armor or arms, or chested horse, 
Nor all the idle darts that light 
From Parthian in his feigned flight. 
Nor whirling rocks from engines thrown 
That come to shake whole cities down. 

No ! — to fear not earthly thing, 

This it is that makes the king ; 

And all of us, whoe'er we be, 

May carve us out this royalty. leigh hunt. 

28 



326 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 



XXVIL — ON THE DEATH OF SHERIDAN. 

When the last sunshine of expiring day 
In summer's twilight weeps itself away, 
Who hath not felt the softness of the hour 
Sink on the heart, as dew along the flower ? 
'T is not harsh sorrow — but a tenderer woe, 
Nameless, but dear to gentle hearts below ; 
Felt without bitterness — but full and clear ; 
A sweet dejection — a transparent tear, 
Unmixed with worldly grief or selfish stain, 
Shed without shame, and secret without pain. 

Even as the tenderness that hour instills 
When summer's day declines along the hills. 
So feels the fullness of our heart and eyes 
When all of Genius which can perish dies ! 
Almighty spirit is eclipsed — a power 
Hath passed from day to darkness — to whose hour 
Of light no likeness is bequeathed — no name, 
Focus at once of all the rays of Fame ! 

The flash of Wit, the bright Intelligence, 
The beam o£ Song, the blaze of Eloquence, 
Set with their sun — but still have left behind 
The enduring produce of immortal Mind ; 
Fruits of a genial morn and glorious noon, 
A deathless part of him who died too soon. 

Ye orators ! whom yet our councils yield. 
Mourn for the veteran hero of your field ! 
The worthy rival of the wondrous Three,^ 
Whose words were sparks of immortality ! 
Ye bards ! to whom the drama's muse is dear, 
He was your master — emulate him here ! 
Ye men of wit and social eloquence ! 
He was your brother — bear his ashes hence ! 

While powers of mind ahnost of boundless range, 
Complete in kind, as various in their change, — 
While Eloquence, Wit, Poesy, and Mirth, 
That humbler harmonist of care on earth. 
Survive within our souls, — while lives our sense 
Of pride in Merit's proud preeminence, 

* Pitt, Fox, and Burke. 



FAITH. HELVELLYN. 327 

Long shall we seek his likeness — long in vain, 
And turn to all of him which may remain, 
Sighing that Nature formed but one such man, 
And broke the die — in moulding Sheridan ! byron. 



XXVIIL — FAITH. 

Ye who think the truth ye sow 
Lost beneath the winter snow, 
Doubt not, Time's unerring law 
Yet shall bring the genial thaw, 

God in Nature ye can trust : 

Is the G-od of Mind less just? 

Read we not the mighty thought 
Once by ancient sages taught ? 
Though it withered in the blight 
Of the mediaeval night. 

Now the harvest we behold ; 

See ! it bears a thousand fold. 

Workers on the barren soil. 
Yours may seem a thankless toil ; 
Sick at heart with hope deferred, 
Listen to the cheering word : 

Now the faithful sower grieves ; 

Soon he '11 bind his golden sheaves. 

If Grreat Wisdom have decreed 

Man may labor, yet the seed 

Never in this life shall grow, 

Shall the sower cease to sow ? 
The fairest fruit may yet be born 
On the resurrection morn ! fritz. 



XXIX. —HELVELLYN. 



In the spring of 1805, a young gentleman of talents, acd of a most amiable 
disposition, perished by losing his way on the mountain Helvellyn. His 
remains were not discovered till three months afterwards, when they were 
found guarded by a faithful dog, his constant attendant during frequent 
solitary rambles through the wilds of Cumberland and Westmoreland, 

I CLIMBED the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn, 

Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide ; 

All was still, save by fits when the eagle was yelling, 
And, starting around me, the echoes replied. 



328 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending, 
And Catchedicam its left verge was defending, 
One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, 

When I marked the sad spot where the wanderer had died. 

Dark green was that spot 'mid the brown mountain heather. 

Where the pilgrim of Nature lay stretched in decay, 
Like the corpse of an outcast, abandoned to weather. 
Till the mountain winds wasted the tenantless clay. 
Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, 
For, faithful in death, his mute favorite attended, 
The much-loved remains of her master defended. 
And chased the hill-fox and the raven away. 

How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber ? 

When the wind waved his garment, how oft did^ thou start ? 
How many long days and long weeks didst thou number. 

Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart ? 
And, ! was it meet, that — no requiem read o'er him. 
No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him, 
And thou, little guardian, alone stretched before him — 

Unhonored the pilgrim from life should depart ? 

When a prince to the fate of the peasant has yielded. 
The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted hall ; 

With scutcheons of silver the coSin is shielded, 
And pages stand mute by the canopied pall : 

Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleaming ; 

In the proudly-arched chapel the banners are beaming ; 

Ear adown the lono; aisle sacred music is streaming;, 
Lamenting a chief of the people should fall. 

But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature, 

To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb, 

When 'wildered he drops from some cliff huge in stature. 
And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. 

And more stately thy couch, by this desert lake lying. 

Thy obsequies sung by the gray plover flying. 

With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying, 
Li the arms of Helvellyn and Catchedicam. 

SIR WALTER SCOTT. 



XXX. — THE STATUE OF THE BELVIDERE APOLLO. 

Heard ye the arrow hurtle in the sky? 
Heard ye the dragon monster's deathftil cry ? 
In settled majesty of calm disdain. 
Proud of his might, yet scornful of the slain, 



ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN. 329 

The heavenly archer stands ^ — no human birth, 

No perishable denizen of earth ; 

Youth blooms immortal in his beardless face, 

A god in strength, with more than godlike grace ; 

All, all divine ; no struggling muscle glows, 

Through heaving vein no mantling life-blood flows ; 

But, animate with deity alone, 

In deathless glory lives the breathing stone. 

Bright kindling with a conqueror's stern delight, 
His keen eye tracks the arrow's fateful flight ; 
Burns his indignant cheek with vengeful fire, 
And his lip quivers with insulting ire : 
Firm fixed his tread, yet light, as when on high 
He walks the impalpable and pathless sky ; 
The rich luxuriance of his hair, confined 
In graceful ringlets, wantons on the wind. 
That lifts in sport his mantle's drooping fold. 
Proud to display that form of faultless mould. 

Mighty Ephesian ! t with an eagle's flight 
Thy proud soul mounted through the fields of light, 
Viewed the bright conclave of heaven's blest abode, 
And the cold marble leapt to life a god. 
Contagious awe through breathless myriads ran, 
And nations bowed before the work of man. 
For mild he seemed, as in Elysian bowers, 
Wasting in careless ease the joyous hours ; 
Haughty, as bards have sung, with princely sway 
Curbing the fierce, flame -breathing steeds of day ; 
Beauteous as vision seen in dreamy sleep 
^y holy maid on Delphi's haunted steep, 
'Mid the dim twilight of the laurel grove, 
Too fair to worship, too divine to love. milman. 



XXXI.— ADDRESS TO THE OCEAN. 

Boll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean — roll ! 
Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; 

Man marks the earth with ruin ; his control 
Stops with the shore ; — upon the watery plain 
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 

* The Apollo is in the act of watching the arrow with which he slew the 
serpent Python. 

t Agasias of Ephesus. 

28* 



330 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, 

When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, 
He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, 
Without a grave, unknelled, uncoflined, and unknown. 

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form 

Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time, 
Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm. 

Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime 

Dark heaving ; — boundless, endless, and sublime — 
The image of eternity — the throne 

Of the Invisible ! even from out thy slime 
The monsters of the deep are made ; each zone 
Obeys thee ; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. 

And I have loved thee. Ocean ! and my joy 
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be 

Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy 
I wantoned with thy breakers; — they to me 
Were a delight ; and if the freshening sea 

Made them a terror, 't was a pleasing fear ; 
For I was, as it were, a child of thee, 

And trusted to thy billows far and near, 
And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here^ byron. 



XXXIL— THE STORY OF GINEVRA. 

She was an only child, her name Grinevra, 
The joy, the pride, of an indulgent father : 
And in her fifteenth year became a bride, 
Marrying an only son, Francesco Doria, 
Her playmate from her birth, and her first love. 
She was all gentleness, all gayety. 
Her pranks the favorite theme of every tongue. 
But now the day was come, — the day, the hour ; 
Now frowning, smiling, for the hundredth time, 
The nurse, that ancient lady, preached decorum ; 
And, in the luster of her youth, she gave 
Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francesco. 
G-reat was the joy ; but at the nuptial feast, 
When all sat down, the bride herself was wanting 
Nor was she to be found ! Her father cried, 
*' 'T is but to make a trial of our love ! " 
And filled his glass to all ; but his hand shook, 



COLUMBUS IN CHAINS. 331 

And soon from guest to guest the panic spread. 
'T was but that instant she had left Francesco, 
Laughing and looking back, and flying still. 
Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger ; 
But now, alas ! she was not to be found ; 
Nor, from that hour, could any thing be guessed, 
But that she was not ! 

Weary of his life, 
Francesco flew to Yenice, and, embarking, 
Flung it away in battle with the Turk. 
The father lived, and long might you have seen 
An old man wandering as in quest of something ; 
Something he could not find, he knew not what. 
When he was gone, the house remained a while 
Silent and tenantless ; then went to stransjers. 
Full fifty years were past, and all forgotten. 
When on an idle day, — a day of search 
'Mid the old lumber in the gallery, — 
That mouldering chest was noticed, and 't was said, 
By one as young, as thoughtless, as Ginevra, 
*• Why not remove it from its lurking-place ? " 
'T was done as soon as said ; but, on the way, 
It burst — it fell ; and, lo ! a skeleton. 
With here and there a pearl, an emerald stone, 
A golden clasp clasping a shred of gold. 
All else had perished, save a wedding ring 
And a small seal, — her mother's legacy, — 
Engraven with a name, — thaname of both, — " Grinevra." 

There then she had found a grave ! 
Within that chest had she concealed herself. 
Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy. 
When a spring lock, that lay in ambush there, 
Fastened her down for ever ! samuel Rogers. 



XXXIII. — COLUMBUS IN CHAINS. 

And this, Spain ! is thy return 

For the new world I gave ! 
Chains ! — this the recompense I earn ! 

The fetters of the slave ! 
Yon sun that sinketh 'neath the sea 
Rises on realms I found for thee. 



332 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

I served thee as a son would serve ; 

I loved thee with a father's love ; 
It ruled my thought, and strung my nerve, 

To raise thee other lands above, 
That thou, with all thy wealth, might be 
The single empress of the sea. 

For thee my form is bowed and worn 
With midnight watches on the main; 

For thee my soul hath calmly borne 

Ills worse than sorrow, more than pain ; 

Through life, whate'er my lot mxight be, 

I lived, dared, suffered, but for thee. 

My guerdon ? — 'T is a furrowed brow, 
Hair gray with grief, eyes dim with tears, 

And blighted hope, and broken vow. 
And poverty for coming years, 

And hate, with malice in her train : — 

What other guerdon ? — Yiew my chain ! 

Yet say not that I weep for gold ! 

No, let it be the robber's spoil. — 
Nor yet, that hate and malice bold 

Decry my triumph and my toil. — 
I weep but for Spain's lasting shame ; 
I weep but for her blackened fame. 



No more. — The sunlight leaves the sea ; 

Farewell, thou never-dying king ! 
Earth's clouds and changes change not thee, 

And thou — and thou, — • grim, giant thing, 
Cause of my glory and my pain, — 
Farewell, unfathomable main ! 

MISS JEWSBURY {altered). 



XXXIV. — MODERN GREECE. 

The isles of Greece ! the isles of Greece ! 

Where burning Sappho loved and sung ; 
Where grew the arts of war and peace ; 

Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung ; 
Eternal summer gilds them yet — 
But all, except their sun, is set ! 



MODERN GREECE. 333 

The Scian and the Teian muse, 

The hero's harp, the lover's lute, 
Have found the fame jour shores refuse : 

Their place of birth alone is mute 
To sounds which echo further west 
Than jour sires' " Islands of the blessed." 

The mountains look on Marathon, 

And Marathon looks on the sea : 
And musing there an hour, alone, 

I dreamed — that Grreece might still be free ! 
For, standing on the Persian's grave, 
I could not deem mjself a slave. 

A king sat on the rockj brow 

T\Tiich looks o'er sea-born Sal'amis ; 
And ships, bj thousands, laj below, 

And men, in nations — all were his ! 
He counted them at break of da j — 
And when the sun set, where were thej ? 

And where are thej ? and where art thou, 
Mj countr J ? — On thj voiceless shore 

The heroic laj is tuneless now — 
The heroic bosom beats no more ! 

And must thj Ijre, so long divine, 

Degenerate into hands like mine ? 

'T is something, in the dearth of fame, 

Though linked among a fettered race, 
To feel at least a patriot's shame. 

Even as I sing, suffuse mj face ; 
For what is left the poet here ? — 
For Greeks, a blush ! — for Greece, a tear ! 

Must we but weep o'er dajs more blest ? 

Must we but blush ? — Our fathers bled ! 
Earth I render back from out thj breast 

A remnant of our Spartan dead ! 
Of the Three Hundred, grant but three, 
To make a new Thermopjlse ! 

What, silent still ? and silent all ? — 

Ah ! no ; — the voices of the dead 
Sound like a distant torrent's fall, 

And answer, " Let one living head. 
But one arise, — we come, we come ! " — 
'T is but the livins: who are dumb. 



334 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

In vain ! in vain! — Strike other chords,—- 
Fill high the cup with Samian wine ! 

Leave battles to the Turkish hordes, 
And shed the blood of — Scio's vine ! 

Hark ! rising to the ignoble call, 

How answers each bold bacchanal ! 

You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet ; 

Where is the Pyrrhic phal'anx gone ? 
Of two such lessons, why forget 

The nobler and the manlier one ? 
You have the letters Cadmus gave — 
Think ye he meant them for a slave ? 

Trust not for freedom to the Franks — 
They have a king who buys and sells : 

In native swords, and native ranks. 
The only hope of courage dwells ; 

But Turkish force, and Latin fraud. 

Would break your shield, however broad. 

Place me on Sunium's marble steep. 
Where nothing, save the waves and I, 

May hear our mutual murmurs sweep ; 
There, swan-like, let me sing and die : 

A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine — 

Dash down yon cup of Samian wine ! byron. 



XXXV. ^ THE CEUCIFESION. 

I ASKED the heavens ; — " What foe to God had done 

This unexampled deed ? " The heavens exclaim, 
" 'T was man ; and we in horror snatched the sun 

From such a spectacle of guilt and shame." 
I asked the sea ; — the sea in fury boiled, 

And answered, with his voice of storms, — " 'T was man ; 
My waves in panic at his crime recoiled. 

Disclosed the abyss, and from the center ran." 
I asked the earth ; — the earth replied, aghast, 

" 'T was man ; and such strange pangs my bosom rent, 
That still I groan and shudder at the past." 

To man, gay, smiling, thoughtless man, I went, 
And asked him next : — he turned a scornful eye, 
Shook his proud head, and deigned me no reply. 

MONTaOMERY. 



THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER. 336 

XXXVI. — THREE WORDS OF STRENGTH. 

There are three lessons I would write — 

Three words — as with a burning pen, 
In tracings of eternal light, 

Upon the hearts of men. 

Have Hope ! — Though clouds environ now, 

And gladness hides her face in scorn, 
Put thou the shadows from thy brow — 

No night but hath its morn. 

Have Eaith ! — Where'er thy bark is driven — 
The calm's disport, the tempest's mirth — 

Know this : God rules the hosts of heaven. 
The inhabitants of earth. 

Have Love ! — Not love alone for one. 

But man, as man, thy brother call. 
And scatter like the circling sun 

Thy charities on all. 

Thus grave these lessons on thy soul, — 

Hope, Faith, and Love, — and thou shalt find 

Strength when life's surges rudest roll. 
Light when thou else wert blind. 



XXXVII. —THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER. 

Mr. Key, the author of the following noble stanzas, had left Baltimore in a 
cartel, or ship sent for exchange of prisoners, for the purpose of effecting 
the release of a friend on board the British fleet. He was compelled to 
remain on board the cartel, under the eye of the British, while the latter 
bombarded Fort Henry. Mr. Key paced the deck of his ship all night, 
fearing the effect of the attack on the American fort. He saw our flag 
waving as the sun went down, and occasionally, by the light of bursting 
shells, after dark ; but, as the bombardment was continued during the 
night, he feared that we might have surrendered. What was his joy, '^ at 
the morning's first dawn," on seeing that " our flag was still there ! " The 
attack on Baltimore had failed. He embodied his emotions, on the spur 
of the moment, in this immortal song. This was in the year 1814. 

0, SAY, can you see, by the dawn's early light, 

What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming? 

Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight, 
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming; 

And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air. 

Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there ? 
! say, does that Star-Spangled Eanner yet wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ? 



336 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES, -j 

On that shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep, 

Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, gfl 

What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, ^ 

As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses ? 

Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam. 

In full glory reflected now shines on the stream : 

'T is the Star-Spangled Banner ! — 0, long may it wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ! 

And where are the foes who so vauntingly swore 
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion 

A home and a country should leave us no more ? 

Their blood hath washed out their foul footstep's pollution ! 

No refuge could save the hireling and slave 

From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave ; 
And the Star-Spangled Banner in triumph doth wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ! 

O, thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand 

Between their loved homes and the war's desolation ! 

Blessed with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land 
Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation. 

Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just. 

And this be our motto, " In God is our trust," — 

And the Star-Spangled Banner in triumph shall wave 
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ! 

F. S. KEY, 



XXXVIIL — THE CHAMOIS'^' HUNTER. 

Night gloomed apace, and dark on high 
The thousand banners of the sky 

Their awful width unfurled. 
Veiling Mont Blanc's majestic brow, 
That seemed, among its cloud-wrapt snow, 

The ghost of some dead world, — 

When Pierre, the hunter, cheerly went 
To scale the Catton's battlement 

Before the peep of day. 
He took his rifle, pole, and rope — 
His heart and eyes alight with hope. 

He hasted on his way. 

* Pronounced sham'o-a ; the last a broad, as infall. 



THE CHAMOIS HUNTER. 337 

He crossed the vale — he hurried on — 
He forded the cold ArVe-ron — 

The first rough terrace gained ; 
Threaded the fir-wood's gloomy belt, 
And trod the snows that never melt, 

And to the summit strained. 

And now he nears the chasmed ice ; 
He stoops to leap, and in a trice 

His foot hath slipped ! — 0, heaven ! 
He hath leaped in, and down he falls 
Between those blue, tremendous walls, 

Standing asunder riven ! 

But quick his clutching, nervous grasp 
Contrives a jutting crag to clasp. 

And thus he hangs in air ; — 
O, moment of exulting bliss ! 
Yet hope, so nearly hopeless, is 

Twin-brother to despair. 

He looked beneath, — a horrible doom ! 
Some thousand yards of deepening gloom 

Where he must drop to die ! 
He looked above, and many a rood 
Upright the frozen ramparts stood, 

Around a speck of sky. 

There two long dreadful hours he hung, 
And often, by strong breezes swung. 

His fainting body twists ; 
Scarce can he cling one moment more — 
His half-dead hands are ice, and sore 

His burning, bursting wrists. 

His head grows dizzy — he must drop : 
He half resolves ; — but stop, 0, stop ! 

Hold on to the last spasm ! 
Never in life give up your hope : 
Behold ! behold ! a friendly rope 

Is dropping down the chasm ! 

They call thee, Pierre ! See, see them here ; 
Thy gathered neighbors far and near : 
Be cool, man — hold on fast ! 
29 



338 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

And so from out that terrible place, 
With death's pale hue upon his face. 
They drew him up at last. 

And home he went, an altered man, 
For many harrowing terrors ran 

Through his poor heart that day : 
He thought how all through life, though young, 
Upon a thread, a hair, he hung, 

Over a gulf midway : 

He thought what fear it were to fall 
Into the pit that swallows all, 

Un winged with hope and love : 
And when the succor came, at last, 
O, then he learnt how firm and fast 

Was his best Friend above. m. f. tupper. 



XXXIX. — ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE. 

SEPTEMBER, 1782. 

Toll for the brave ! the brave that are no more ! 
All sunk beneath the wave, fast by their native shore ! 
Eight hundred of the brave, whose courage well was tried, 
Had made the vessel heel, and laid her on her side. 
A land-breeze shook the shrouds, and she was overset ; 
Down went the Eoyal George, with all her crew complete ! 

Toll for the brave ! Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; 
His last sea-fight is fought — his work of glory done. 
It was not in the battle ; no tempest gave the shock ; 
She sprang no fatal leak ; she ran upon no rock. 
His sword was in his sheath, his fingers held the pen, 
When Kempenfelt went down with twice four hundred men. 

Weigh the vessel up, once dreaded by our foes, 

And mingle with our cup the tear that England owes ! 

Her timbers yet are sound, and she may float again. 

Full charged with England's thunder, and plow the distant main. 

But Kempenfelt is gone, his victories are o'er ; 

And he and his eight hundred shall plow the wave no more. 

COWPER. 



THE FLIGHT OF XERXES. • 3S9 

XL. — ^' THE TEMPEST STILLED." 

The strono: winds burst on Judah's sea. 

Far pealed the raging billow, 
The fires of heaven flashed wrathfulij, 

When Jesus pressed his pillow. 
The light frail bark was fiercely tossed, 

From surge to dark surge leaping, 
For sails were torn and oars were lost, 

Yet Jesus still lay sleeping. 

When o'er that bark the loud waves roared, 

And blasts went howling round her. 
Those Hebrews roused their wearied Lord, — 

" Lord ! help us, or we founder ! " 
He said, " Ye waters, peace, be still ! " 

The chafed waves sank reposing, 
As wild herds rest on field and hill. 

When clear, calm days are closing. 

And, turning to the startled men 

Who watched that surge subsiding, 
He spoke in mournful accents then 

These words of righteous chiding : 
"0, ye, who thus fear wreck and death, 

As if by Heaven forsaken, 
How is it that ye have no faith. 

Or faith so quickly shaken ? " 

Then, then those doubters saw with dread 

The wondrous scene before them ; 
Their limbs waxed faint, their boldness fled, 

Strange awe stole creeping o'er them : 
"This, this," they said, ''is Judah's Lord, 

For powers divine array him ; 
Behold ! he does but speak the word. 

And winds and waves obey him ! " 

REV. J. G. LYONS. 



XLL — THE FLIGHT OF XERXES. 

I SAW him on the battle-eve, 
When like a kino; he bore him : 

Proud hosts in glittering helm and greave, 
And prouder chiefs, before him. 



340 'LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. • ^ 

The warrior and the warrior's deeds, 
The morrow and the morrow's meeds, — 

No daunting thought came o'er him \ 
He looked around him, and his eye 
Defiance flashed to earth and sky. 

He looked on ocean, — its broad breast 

Was covered with his fleet : 
On earth, — and saw from East to West 

His bannered millions meet ; 
While rock, and glen, and cave, and coast, 
Shook with the war-cry of that host, 

The thunder of their feet ! 
He heard the imperial echoes ring, — 
He heard, B.nd felt himself a king. 

I saw him next alone : — nor camp 

Nor chief his steps attended ; 
Nor banner blazed, nor courser's tramp 

With war-cries proudly blended. 
He stood alone, whom Fortune high 
So lately seemed to deify ; 

He, who with Heaven contended. 
Fled like a fugitive and slave ! — - 
Behind, the foe ; before, the wave ! 

He stood — fleet, army, treasure, gone — 

Alone, and in despair ! 
But wave and wind swept ruthless on, 

For they Yveie monarchs there ; 
And Xerxes, in a single bark, 
Where late his thousand ships were dark, 

Must all their fury dare. 
What a revenge, a trophy, this, 
For thee, immortal Saiamis ! miss jewsbury. 



XLII. — TRUE AND FALSE VALOR. 

True valor springs from reason, 
And tends to perfect honesty. The scope 
Is always honor and the public good. 
Valor in private quarrels is no valor ; 
No, not for reputation ! That 's man's idol 
Set up 'gainst Grod's, the maker of all laws, 



TRUE AND FALSE VALOR. 241 

Who hath commanded us we shall not kill ; 
And yet we say we must for reputation ! 
What honest man can either fear his own, 
Or else will hurt another's reputation? 
Fear to do base, unworthy things, is valor ! 
I never thought an angry person valiant ; 
Virtue is never aided by a vice ; 
And 't is an odious kind of remedy 
To owe our health to a disease. 
If it proceed from passion, not from judgment, 
Brute beasts have valor — wicked persons have it. 
So in the end where it respects not truth 
Or public honesty, but mere revenge, 
The ignorant valor. 

That knows not why it undertakes, but does it 
To escape the infamy merely, — 
Valor that lies in the eyes of the lookers on, — 
Is worst of all. 

The things true valor 's exercised about 
Are poverty, restraint, captivity. 
Banishment, loss of children, long disease : ^ 

The least is death. Here valor is beheld ; 
And as all knowledge, when it is removed, 
Or separate from justice, is called craft, 
Bather than wisdom ; so a mind affecting 
Or undertaking dangers for ambition. 
Or any self-pretext, not for the public. 
Deserves the name of daring, not of valor ; 
And over-daring is as great a vice 
As over-fearing — ay, and often greater. 
But, as it is not the mere punishment, 
But the cause, that makes the martyr, so it is not 
Fighting, or dying, but the manner of it. 
Benders a man himself. A valiant man 
Ought not to undergo, or tempt a danger. 
But worthily, and by selected ways : 
He undertakes with reason, not by chance. 
His valor is the salt to his other virtues ; 
They are all unseasoned without it. The attendants 
Or the concomitants of it are his patience. 
His magnanimity, his confidence. 
His constancy, security, and quiet ; 
He can assure himself against all rumor, — 
Despairs of nothinoj, laughs at contumelies, 
29* 



842 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

As knowing himself advanced in a height 
Where injury cannot reach him, nor aspersion 

Touch him with soil ! ben JONSON (^altered). 



XLIII. — THE CURSE OF KEHAMA. 

I CHARM thy life from the weapons of strife, from stone and 
from wood, from fire and from blood, from the serpent's tooth, 
and the beasts of blood ; from sickness I charm thee, and time 
shall not harm thee, but earth, which is mine, its fruits shall deny 
thee ; and water shall hear me, and know thee and fly thee, and 
the winds shall not touch thee when they pass by thee ; and the 
dews shall not wet thee, when they come nigh thee ; and thou 
shalt seek death to release thee in vain ; thou shalt live in thy 
pain, while Kehama shall reign, with a fire in thy heart and a 
fire in thy brain ; and sleep shall obey me, and visit thee never, 
and the curse shall he on thee for ever and ever ! southey. 



XLIV. — COMBAT OF FITZ-JAMES AND RODERICK. 

The chief in silence strode before, 

And reached the torrent's sounding shore ; 

And here, at length, his course he staid, 

Threw down his target and his plaid, 

And to the Lowland warrior said : 

" Bold Saxon ! to his promise just, 

Vich- Alpine has discharged his trust ; 

This murderous chief, this ruthless man, 

This head of a rebellious clan. 

Hath led thee safe through watch and ward, 

Far past Clan- Alpine's outmost guard. 

Now, man to man, and steel to steel, 

A chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel ! 

See, here, all vantageless I stand. 

Armed, like thyself, with single brand ! 

For this is Coilantogle ford. 

And thou must keep thee with thy sword." 

The Saxon paused : — "I ne'er delayed 
When foeman bade me draw my blade : 
Nay, more, brave chief, I vowed thy death ! 
Yet sure thy fair and generous faith, 



COMBAT OF FITZ-JAMES AND KODERICK. 343 

And m J deep debt for life preserved, 

A better meed have well deserved. 

Can nauo^ht but blood our feud atone ? 

Are there no means ? " — " No, stranger, none ! — 

Not jet prepared ? By heaven, I change 

My thought, and hold thy valor light, 

As that of some vain carpet-knight, 

Who ill deserved my courteous care. 

And whose best boast is but to wear 

A braid of his fair lady's hair ! " — 

" I thank thee, Eoderick, for the word ; 

It nerves my heart, it steels my sword ! 

For I have sworn this braid to stain 

In the best blood that warms thy vein. 

Now, truce, farewell ! and, ruth, begone ! 

Yet think not that by thee alone, 

Proud chief, can courtesy be shown : 

Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn, 

Start at my whistle clansmen stern, 

Of this small horn one feeble blast 

Would fearful odds against thee cast. 

But fear not — doubt not — what thou wilt — 

We try this quarrel hilt to hilt ! " 

Then each at once his falchion drew. 
Each on the ground his scabbard threw ; 
Each looked to sun, and stream, and plain, 
As what he ne'er might see again. 
Then, foot, and point, and eye opposed, 
In dubious strife they darkly closed. 
Ill fared it then with Bhoderick Dhu, 
That on the field his targe he threw ; 
Whose brazen studs, and tough bull-hide, 
Had death so often dashed aside : 
For, trained abroad his arms to wield, 
Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield. 
He practiced every pass and ward, 
To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard ; 
While less expert, though stronger far, 
The Gael * maintained unequal war. 
Three times in closing strife they stood, 
And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood ; 

* Pronounced gale. 



344 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

No stinted draught, no scanty tide, — 
The gushing flood the tartans dyed. 
Fierce Roderick felt the flital drain, 
And showered his blows like wintry rain ; 
And, as firm rock, or castle roof, 
Against the winter-shower is proof. 
The foe, invulnerable still. 
Foiled his wild rage by steady skill ; 
Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand 
Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand ; 
And, backward borne upon the lea, 
Brought the proud chieftain to his knee. 

" Now, yield thee, or, by Him who made 
The world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade ! '' 
*' Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy ! 
Let recreant yield, who fears to die." 
Like adder darting from his coil. 
Like wolf that dashes through the toil. 
Like mountain-eat who guards her young, 
Full at Fitz-James's throat he sprung ; 
Received, but recked not of, a wound, 
And locked his arms his foeman roimd. 
Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own ! 
No maiden's hand is round thee thrown ! 
That desperate grasp thy frame might feel 
Through bars of brass and triple steel ! 
They tug, they strain ! Down, down they go, 
The G-ael above, Fitz-James below. 
The chieftain's gripe his throat compressed ; 
His knee was planted on his breast ; 
His clotted locks he backward threw, 
"^ Across his brow his hand he drew, 

From blood and mist to clear his sight ; 
Then gleamed aloft his dagger bright ! 
But hate and fury ill supplied 
The stream of life's exhausted tide. 
And all too late the advantage came. 
To turn the odds of deadly game ; 
For, while the dagger gleamed on high. 
Reeled soul and sense, reeled brain and eye. 
Down came the blow ! but in the heath 
The erring blade found bloodless sheath. 



THE PLACE TO DIE. HIGHLAND CORONACH. 345 

The struggling foe may now unclasp 
The fainting chief's relaxing grasp. 
Unwounded from the dreadful close, 
But breathless all, Fitz-James arose. 

SIR TTALTER SCOTT. 



XLV. — THE PLACE TO DIE. . ^, r^ . > 

How little recks it where men die, when once the moment 's j^ast 
In which the dim and glazing eye has looked on earth its last ; 
Whether beneath the sculptured urn the coffined form shall rest, 
Or, in its nakedness, return back to its mother's breast ! 

Death is a common Mend or foe, as different men may hold, 
And at its summons each must go, the timid and the bold ; 
But when the spirit, free and warm, deserts it, as it must, 
What matter where the lifeless form dissolyes again to dust ? 

'T were sweet, indeed, to close our eyes with those we cherish near, 
And, wafted upwards by their sighs, soar to some calmer sphere ; 
But whether on the scaffold high, or in the battle's van, 
The fittest place where man can die is where he dies for man ! 

DUBLIN NATION. 



XLVL — HIGHLANT) CORONACH, OR FUNERAL SONG. 

He is gone on the mountain, he is lost to the forest. 
Like a summer-dried fountain, when our need was the sorest. 
The fount, reappearing, from the rain-drops shall borrow ; 
But to us comes no cheering, to Duncan no morrow ! 

The hand of the reaper takes the ears that are hoary. 
But the Yoice of the weeper wails manhood in glory ; 
The autumn winds, rushing, waft the leaves that are serest, 
But our flower was in flushincf when blightino: was nearest. 

Fleet foot on the corei,^ sage counsel in cumber, 

Bed hand in the foray, how sound is thy slumber ! 

Like the dew on the mountain, like the foam on the river, 

Like the bubble on the fountain, thou art gone, and for ever ! 

SIR WALTER SCOTT. 

* Pronounced cor'rd. The corei is the hollow side of the hill, where game 
usually lies. 



346 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 



XLVII. — BE PATIENT. 

Be patient, 0, be patient ! put jour ear against the earth ; 
Listen there how noiselessly the germ of the seed has birth ; 
How noiselessly and gently it upheaves its little way, 
Till it parts the scarcely broken ground, and the blade stands up 
in the day ! 

Be patient, 0, be patient ! the germs of mighty thought 
Must have their silent undergrowth, must under ground be wrought ; 
But as sure as ever there 's a Power that makes the grass appear, 
Our land shall b^ green with Liberty, the blade-time shall be here. 

Be patient, 0, be patient ! go and watch the wheat-ears grow ! 
So imperceptibly, that ye can mark nor change nor throe ; 
Day after day, day after day, till the ear is fully grown ; 
And then, again, day after day, till the ripened field is brown. 

Be patient, 0, be patient ! though yet our hopes are green. 
The harvest-fields of Freedom shall be crowned with the sunny 

sheen : 
Be ripening ! be ripening ! mature your silent way. 
Till the whole broad land is tongued with fire, on Freedom's 

harvest-day ! Dublin nation. 

XL VIII. — JAFEAR : AN EASTERN TRADITION. 

Jaffar', the Barmekide, the good vizier, 

The poor man's hope, the friend without a peer, — 

Jafiar was dead, slain by a doom unjust ! 

And guilty Ha'roun, sullen with mistrust 

Of what the good and e'en the bad might say, 

Ordained that no man living, from that day. 

Should dare to speak his name, on pain of death : — 

All Araby and Persia held their breath. 

All but the brave Mondeer. He, proud to show 
How far for love a grateful soul could go, 
And facing death for very scorn and grief 
(For his great heart wanted a great relief), 
Stood forth in Bagdad daily in the square, 
Where once had stood a happy house ; and there 
Harangued the tremblers at the scimitar 
On all they owed to the divine Jaffar'. 

" Bring me the man ! " the calif cried. — The man 
Was brought, was gazed upon. The mutes began 



THE AMERICAN HERO. 347 

To bind his arms. '' Welcome, brave cords ! " cried he ; 

" From bonds far worse Jaffar' delivered me; 

From wants, from shames, from loveless household fears ; 

Made a man's eyes friends with delicious tears ; 

Restored me, loved me, put me on a par 

With his great self. — How can I pay Jaffar '? " 

Haroun, who felt that on a soul like this 

The mightiest vengeance could but fall amiss, 

Now deigned to smile, as one great lord of fate 

Might smile upon another half as great. 

And said : " Let worth grow frenzied, if it will ; 

The calif's judgment shall be master still. 

Go ; and, since gifts thus move thee, take this gem, 

The richest in the Tartar's diadem, 

And hold the giver as thou deemest fit." 

" Gifts ! " cried the friend. He took ; and, holding it* 
High toward the heaven, as though to meet his star. 
Exclaimed, "This, too, I owe to thee, Jafiar ! " 

LEIGH HUNT. 



XLIX. — THE AMERICAN HERO.'^ 

Why should vain mortals tremble at the sight of 
Death and Destruction in the field of battle. 
Where blood and carnage clothe the ground in crimson 
Sounding with death-groans ? 

Death will invade us by the means appointed. 
And we must all bow to the king of terrors ; 
Nor am I anxious, if I am prepared. 
What shape he comes in. 

Infinite Goodness teaches us submission, 
Bids us be quiet under all His dealings, 
Never repining, but for ever praising 
God our Creator. 

Then to the wisdom of my Lord and Master 
I will commit all that I have or wish for : 
Sweetly as babes sleep will I give my life up. 
When called to yield it. 

*Wri14'«n in the time of tbe American Revolution, at Nonvich, Conn., 
October, 1775. 



348 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

Now, Mars, I dare thee, clad in smoky pillars, 
Bursting from bomb-shells, roaring from the cannon, 
Rattling in grape-shot like a storm of hailstones, 
Torturing ether ! 

While hostile hearts quick palpitate for havoc, 
Let slip your bloodhounds, — ay, your British lions, — 
As Death undaunted, nimble as the whirlwind, 
Frightful as demons ! 

Let ocean waft on all your floating castles, 
Fraught with destruction horrible in nature ; 
Then, with your sails filled by a storm of vengeance, 
Bear down to battle. 

From the dire caverns made by ghostly miners, 
Let the explosion, dreadful as volcanoes. 
Heave the broad town, with all its wealth and people, 
Quick to destruction. 

Still shall the banner of the King of Heaven 
Never advance where I 'm afraid to follow ! 
While that precedes me, with an open bosom, 

War, I defy thee ! Nathaniel niles. 



L. — THE STRUGGLE FOR FAME. 

If thou wouldst win a lasting fame, — 

If thou the immortal wreath wouldst claim, 

And make the future bless thy name, — 

Begin thy perilous career ; 

Keep high thy heart, thy conscience clear, 

And walk thy way without a fear. 

And if thou hast a voice within. 
That ever whispers, " Work and win," 
And keeps thy soul from sloth and sin ; — 

If thou canst plan a noble deed, 

And never flag till it succeed, 

Though in the strife thy heart should bleed ; 

If thou canst struggle day and night, 
And, in the envious world's despite, 
Still keep thy cyn'osure in sight ; — 



THE CHRISTIAN MARTYR. §49 

If thou canst bear the rich man's scorn, 
Nor curse the day that thou wert born 
To feed on husks, and he on corn ; — 

If thou canst dine upon a crust, 
And still hold on with patient trust, 
Nor pine that fortune is unjust ; — 

If thou canst see, with tranquil breast, 
The knave or fool in purple dressed. 
Whilst thou must walk in tattered vest ; — 

If thou canst rise ere break of day, 
And toil and moil till evening gray, 
At thanldess work, for scanty pay ; — 

If in thy progress to renown 

Thou canst endure the scoff and frown 

Of those who strive to pull thee down ; — 

If thou canst bear the averted face, 

The gibe, or treacherous embrace, 

Of those who run the self-same race ; — 

If thou in darkest days canst find 
An inner brightness in thy mind, 
To reconcile thee to thy kind : — 

Whatever obstacles control, 

Thine hour will come — go on — true soul ! 

Thou 'It win the prize, thou 'It reach the goal. 

If not — what matters ? Tried by fire, 

And purified from low desire, 

Thy spirit shall but soar the higher. 

Content and hope thy heart shall buoy, 
And men's neglect shall ne'er destroy 
Thy secret peace, thy inward joy ! 

CHARLES MACKAY. 



Ll. — THE CHRISTIAN MARTYR. 

The eyes of thousands glanced on him, as mid the cirque he stood, 
Unheeding of the shout which broke from that vast multitude. 
The prison damps had paled his cheek, and on his lofty brow 
Corroding care had deeply traced the furrows of his plow. 
30 



SoO LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

Amid the crowded cirque he stood, and raised to heaven his eje/ 
For well that feeble old man knew they brought him forth to die ! 
Yet joy was beaming in that eye, while from his lips a prayer 
Passed up to heaven, and faith secured his peaceful dwelling there. 

Then calmly on his foes he looked ; and, as he gazed, a tear 
Stole o'er his cheeks ; but 't was the birth of pity, not of fear. 
He knelt down on the gory sand — once more he looked toward 

heaven ; 
And to the Christian's Grod he prayed that they might be forgiven. 

But, hark ! another shout, o'er which the hungry lion's roar 
Is heard, like thunder, mid the swell on a tempestuous shore ! 
And forth the Lybian savage bursts - — rolls his red eyes around ; 
Then on his helpless victim springs, and beats him to the ground. 

Short pause was left f«r hope or fear ; the instinctive love of life 
One struggle made, but vainly made, in such unequal strife ; 
Then with the scanty stream of life hi^ jaws the savage dyed ; 
While, one by one, the quivering limbs his bloody feast supplied. 

Rome's prince and senators partook the shouting crowd's delight ; 
And Beauty gazed unshrinkingly on that unhallowed sight. 
But say, what evil had he done ? — what sin of deepest hue ? — 
A blameless faith was all the crime that Christian martyr knew ! 

But where his precious blood was spilt, even from that barren sand, 
There sprang a stem, whose vigorous boughs soon overspread the 

land : 
O'er distant isles its shadow fell ; nor knew its roots decay. 
Even when the Roman Cesar's throne and rule had passed away. 

UEV. HAMILTON BUCHANAN. 



LIL — THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. 

Come, see the Dolphin's anchor forged ; 'tis at a white heat now. 

The windlass strains the tackle-chains, the black mound heaves below ; 

And ved and deep a hundred Teins burst out at every throe : 

It rises, roars, rends all outright — 0, Vulcan, what a glow ! 

'T is blinding white, 't is blasting bright ; the high sun shines not so ! 

As, quivering through his fleece of flame, the sailing monster slow 

Sinks on the anvil, all about the faces fiery grow. 

" Hurra ! " they shout, " leap out, leap out ! " bang, bang, the sledges go ! 

Leap out, leap out, my masters ! leap out, and lay on load ! 
Let 's forge a goodly anchor — a Bower thick and broad : 
For a heart of oak is hanging on every blow I bode ; 
And I see the good ship riding all in a perilous road, 
The low reef roaring on her lea ; the roll of ocean poured, 
From stem to stern, sea after sea : the mainmast by the board ; 



DIBXIE OF ALARIO5 TfLK VISIGOTH. 351 

The bulwarks down ; the rudder gone ; the boats stove at the chains ; 
But, courage still, brave mariners ! — the Bower yet remains, 
And not an inch to flinch he deigns, save when ye pitch skj^-high ; 
Then moves his head, as though he said, ** Fear nothing ; here am I ! " 

Swing in your strokes in order — let foot and hand keep time ! 

Your blows make music sweeter far than any steeple's chime ; 

But while ye swing your sledges, sing ; and let the burden be. 

The anchor is the anvil-king, and royal craftsmen we ! 

Strike in, strike in ! the sparks begin to dull their rustling red ; 

Our hammers ring with sharper din, our work will soon be sped : 

Our anchor soon must change his bed of fiery rich array 

For a hammock at the roaring bows, or an oozy couch of clay ; 

Our anchor soon must change the lay of merry craftsmen here 

For the yeo heave-o, and the heave-away, and the sighing seamen's cheer. 

0, trusted and trustworthy guard, if thou hadst life like me. 

What pleasures would thy toils reward beneath the deep green sea ! 

0, deep sea-diver, who might then behold such sights as thou ? 

The hoary monsters' palaces ! methinks what joy 'twere now 

To go plump plunging down amid the assembly of the whales. 

And feel the churned seo, round me boil beneath their scourging tails ! 

0, broad-armed fisher of the deep, whose sports can equal thine ? 

The Dolphin weighs a thousand tons that tugs thy cable line ; 

And night by night 't is thy delight, thy gloryi^ay by day, 

Through sable sea and breaker white, the giant game to play ; 

But, shamer of our little sports ! forgive the name I gave : 

A fisher's joy is to destroy — thine office is to save. g. FERGUSON, 



LIII. — DIBGE OF ALABIC,* THE VISIGOTH. 

When I am dead, no pageant train 
Shall waste their sorrows at mj bier, 

Nor worthless pomp of homage vain 
Stain it with hypocritic tear ; 

For I will die as I did live, 

JSTor take the boon I can not give. 

Ye shall not raise a marble bust 

Upon the spot where I repose ; 
Ye shall not fawn before my dust, 

In hollow circumstance of woes ; 
Nor sculptured clay, with lying breath, 
Insult the clay that moulds beneath. 

Ye shall not pile, with servile toil, 

Your monuments upon my breast ; 
Nor yet within the common soil 

Lay down the wreck of power to rest, 
I 
* Alaric stormed and spoiled the city of Rome, and was afterwards buried 
in the channel of the river Busentinus, the water of which had been diverted 
from its course that the body might be interred. 



352 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

Where man can boast that he has trod 
On him that was " the scourge of Glod." 

But ye the mountain stream shall turn, 

And lay its secret channel bare, 
And hollow, for your sovereign's urn, 

A resting-place for ever there ; 
Then bid its everlasting springs 
Flow back upon the King of Kings ; 
And never be the secret said. 
Until the deep give up his dead. 

My gold and silver ye shall fling 

Eack to the clods that gave them birth ; — 

The captured crowns of many a king, 
The ransom of a conquered earth : 

For e'en though dead, will I control 

The trophies of the Capitol. 

But when beneath the mountain tide 

Ye 've laid your monarch down to rot, 
Ye shall not rear upon its side 

Pillar or mound to mark the spot : 
For long enough the world has shook 
Beneath the terrors of my look; 
And now that I have run my race, 
The astonished realms shall rest a space. 

My course was like a river deep, 
And from the northern hills I burst, 

Across the world in wrath to sweep. 
And where I went the spot was cursed ; 

Nor blade of grass again was seen 

Where Alaric and his hosts had been. 

See how their haughty barriers fail 
Beneath the terror of the Goth ! 

Their iron-breasted legions quail 
Before my ruthless sabaoth ! ^ 

And low the Queen t of empires kneels, 

And grovels at my chariot-wheels ! 

Not for myself did I ascend 

In judgment my triumphal car ; 

'Twas Grod alone on high did send 
The avenging Scythian to the war, 

* A Hebrew word, signifying armies, hosts. f Rome. 



THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOTS. 35^ 

To shake abroad, with iron hand, 

The appointed scourge of His command. 

With iron hand that scourge I reared 

O'er guilty king and guilty realm ; 
Destruction was the ship I steered, 

And Vengeance sat upon the helm ! 
When launched in fury on the flood, 
I plowed my way through seas of blood, 
And in the stream their hearts had spilt 
Washed out the long arrears of guilt ! 

Across the everlasting Alp 

I poured the torrent of my powers, 
And feeble Ca3sars shrieked for help 

In vain within their seven-hilled towers ! 
I quenched in blood the brightest gem 
That glittered in their diadem ; 
And struck a darker, deeper dye 
In the purple of their majesty ; 
And bade my northern banners shine 
Upon the conquered Palatine,* 

My course is run — my errand done : 

I go to Him from whom I came ; 
But never yet shall set the sun 

Of glory that adorns my name ; 
And Roman hearts shall long be sick, 
When men shall think of Alaric. 

My course is run — my errand done ; 

But darker ministers of fate. 
Impatient, round tho eternal throne, 

And in the caves of vengeance, wait. 
And soon mankind shall blanch away 
Before the name of At'tila. edwarb everett. 



LIV.—THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS. 

Here halt we our march, and pitch our tent, 

On the rugged forest ground, 
And light our fire with the branches rent 

By the winds from the beeches round. 

* The Palatine was one of the seyen hills of Rome. Augustus had hia 
palace here. 

30^ 



354 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

Wild storms have torn this ancient wood, 

But a wilder is at hand, 
With hail of iron and rain of blood, 

To sweep and scathe the land. 

How the dark waste rings with voices shrill, 

That startle the sleeping bird ! 
To-morrow eve must the voice be still, 

And the step must fall unheard. 
The Briton lies by the blue Champlain, 

In Ticonderoga's towers ; 
And ere the sun rise twice again. 

The towers and the lake are ours ! 

Fill up the bowl from the brook that glides 

Where the fire-fiies light the brake : 
A ruddier juice the Briton hides 

In his fortress by the lake. 
Build high the fire, till the panther leap 

From his lofty perch in fright ; 
And we '11 strengthen our weary arms with sleep, 

For the deeds of to-morrow night. bryant. 



LV. — THE PROSPECT OF IMMORTALITY. 

Unfading Hope ! when life's last embers burn, — 
When soul to soul, and dust to dust, return, — 
Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour : 
O, then thy kingdom comes. Immortal Power ! 

What though each spark of earth-born rapture fly 
The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye ! 
Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey 
The morning dream of life's eternal day : — 
Then — then, the triumph and the trance begin. 
And all the phoenix spirit burns within ! 

0, deep-enchanting prelude to repose ! 
The dawn of bliss ! the twilight of our woes ! 
Yet half I hear the parting spirit sigh. 
It is a dread and awful thing to die ! — 
Mysterious worlds, untraveled by the sun. 
Where Time's fiir-wanderino; tide has never run ! 
From your unfathomed shades, and viewless spheres, 
A> warning comes, unheard by other ears : 



THE PROSPECT OF IMMORTALITY. 355 

'T is Heaven's commanding trumpet, long and loud, 
Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from the cloud ! 
While Nature hears, with terror-mingled trust, 
The shock that hurls her fabric to the dust ; 
And, like the trembling Hebrew, when he trod 
The roaring waves, and called upon his God, 
With mortal terrors clouds immortal bliss. 
And shrieks, and hovers o'er the dark abyss. 

Daughter of Faith, awake ! arise ! illume 
The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb ! 
Melt and dispel, ye specter-doubts, that roll 
Cimmerian darkness o'er the parting soul I 
Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of Dismay, 
Chased on his night-steed by the star of day ! 
The strife is o'er, — the pangs of nature close. 
And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes. 
Hark ! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze, 
The noon of heaven, undazzled by the blaze. 
On heavenly winds, that waft her to the sky, 
Float the sweet tones of star-born melody. 
Wild as that hallowed anthem sent to hail 
Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely vale, 
When Jordan hushed its waves, and midnight still 
Watched on the holy towers of Zion hill ! 

Soul of the just ! companion of the dead ! 
Where is thy home, and whither art thou fled ? 
Back to its heavenly source thy being goes, 
Swift as the comet wheels to whence he rose • 
Doomed on his airy path a while to burn, 
And doomed, like thee, to travel and return ; — 
Hark ! from the world's exploring center driven, 
With sounds that shook the firmament of heaven, 
Careers the fiery giant, fast and far, 
On bickering wheels and adamantine car ; 
From planet whirled to planet more remote. 
He visits realms beyond the reach of thought ; 
But wheeling homeward, when his course is run, 
Curbs the red yoke, and mingles with the sun. 
So hath the traveler of earth unfurled 
Her trembling wings, emerging from the world ; 
And, o'er the path by mortal never trod, 
Sprung to her source — the bosom of her God ! 

CAMPBELL. 



856 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 



LVI.— THE SONG OF THE CORNISH MEN. 

When Sir Jonathan Trelawny, one of the seven bishops, was committed to 
the Tower, in 1688, during the religious persecutions under King James, 
the men of the county of Cornwall, in England, rose one and all, and 
marched as far as Exeter on their way to free him from prison. It is' said 
that the following song, which was sung all over the county, had great 
effect in alarming the government, and staying the course of persecution. 

A GOOD sword and a trusty hand, 

A merry heart and true, — 
King James's men shall understand 

What Cornish lads can do. 

And have they fixed the where and when ? 

And shall Trelawny die ? 
Here 's thirty thousand Cornishmen 

Will see the reason why ! 

Out spake their captain, brave and bold, 

A merry wight was he : 
" If London's Tower were Michael's hold, 

We 11 set Trelawny free ! 

** We '11 cross the Taraar, land to land ; 

The Severn is no stay ; 
All side by side, and hand to hand, — 

And who shall bid us nay ? 

*' And when we come to London wall, 

A pleasant sight to view. 
Come forth, come forth, ye cowards all, 

To better men than you ! 

" Trelawny, he 's in keep and hold ; 

Trelawny, he may die ; 
But here *s thirty thousand Cornish bold 

Will see the reason why ! " 



LVII. — DREAMS. 



O ! THERE is a dream of early youth, 

And it never comes again ; 
'T is a vision of light — of life — of truth- 

That flits across the brain : 



THE murderer's CONFESSION. 357 

And love is the theme of that early dream — 

So warm, so wild, so new, 
That in all our after life I deem 

That early dream we rue. 

! there is a dream of maturer years, 

More turbulent by far — 
'T is a vision of blood, and of woman's tears, 

For the theme of that dream is war ; 
And we toil in the field of danger and death, 

And we shout in the battle array. 
Till we find that fame is a bodiless breath. 

That vanisheth away. 

O ! there is a dream of hoary age ; 

'Tis a vision of gold in store — 
Of sums noted down in a figured page, 

To be counted o'er and o'er ; 
And we fondly trust in our glittering dust, 

As a refuge from grief and pain, 
Till our limbs are laid on that cold bed 

Where the wealth of the world is vain 

And is it thus from man's birth to his grave, 

In the path which we all are treading ? 
Is there naught in his wild career to save 

From remorse and self-upbraiding ? 
O, yes ! there 's a dream so pure, so bright, 
That the being to whom it is given 
^ ^ » , ^ Path bathed in a sea of living light, 
,!i\ ly ^^ And the theme of that dream is Heaven. 



LVIII. — THE MURDERER'S CONFESSION 

I PAUSED not to question the devil's suggestion, 

But o'er the clifi*, headlong, the living was thrown ; — 
A scream and a<! plashing, a foam and a flashing. 
And the smothering water accomplished his slaughter, — 
All was silent, and I was alone ! 

With heart-thrilling spasm, I leant o'er the chasm ; 

There was blood on the wave that closed over his head, 
And in bubbles his breath, as he struggled with death, 

Rose up to the surface. I shuddered and fled. 



358 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

With footsteps that staggered, and countenance haggard, 
I stole to my dwelling, bewildered, dismayed. 

Till whisperings stealthy said, " Psha ! he was wealthy — 
Thou 'rt his heir — no one saw thee — then be not afraid." 

Age-paralyzed, sickly, he must have died quickly, 

Each day brought some new ill ; 
Why leave him to languish and struggle with anguish ? 
The deed that relieved him from all that aggrieved him 

Was kindly, not cruel. 

In procession extended, a funeral splendid, 

With bannered displays and escutcheons emblazoned. 

To church slowly passed, 
When a dread apparition astounded my vision ; 
Like an aspen^leaf shaking, dumfounded and quaking, 

I stood all aghast ! 

From its nailed coffin=prison the corpse had arisen, 
And all in its shroud vesture, with menacing gesture, 
And eyeballs that stared at me, flared at me, glared at me 
It pointed — it flouted its slayer, and shouted. 

In accents that thrilled me, 
" That ruthless dissembler, that guilt-stricken trembler, 
Is the villain who killed me ! " 

'Twas fancy's creation — mere hallucination - 

A lucky delusion ; for again my confusion, 

Gruilt's evidence sinister, seemed to people and minister 

The painful achievement of grief and bereavement. 

To escape the ideal, let me dwell on the real : 

I, a pauper so lately. 
In abundance possessing life's every blessing, 
Fine steeds in my stable, rare wines on my table, 
Servants dressed gayly, choice banquets daily, 
A wife fond and beautiful, children most dutiful, — 
I, a pauper so lately, live richly and greatly, 
In a mansion-house stately. 

Life's blessings ? — 0, liar ! all are curses most dire ! — 

In the midst of my revels, 
His eyes ever stare at me, flare at me, glare at me ! 
Before me, when treading my manors outspreading. 
There yawns an abysmal cliff precipice dismal : 
Isolation has vanished, all silence is banished ; 
Where'er I immew me, his death-shrieks pursue me, — 

I am haunted by devils ! 



\- 



THE MURDEREE'S CONFESSION. 359 

My wine, clear and ruddy, seems turbid and bloody : 
I cannot quaff water ; — recalling his slaughter, 
My terror it doubles — 't is beaded with bubbles, 

Each filled with his breath, 
That in every glass hisses — " Assassin ! 
My curse shall affright thee, haunt, harrow, and blight thee, 

In life and in death ! " 

When free from this error, I thrill with the terror 

(Thought horrid to dwell on I ) 
That the wretch whom men cherish may shamefully perish ; 
Be publicly gibbeted,* branded, exhibited. 

As a murderous felon I 

O, punishment hellish ! the house I embellish 
From center to corner upbraids its adorner : 
A door's lowest creaking swells into a shrieking ; 
Against me each column bears evidence solemn ; 

Each statue 's a Nem'esis ; t 
They follow — infest me ; they strive to arrest me, 
Till, in terrified sadness, that verges on madness, 

I rush from the premises. 

The country's amenity brings no serenity ; 

Each rural sound seeming a menace or screaming; 

Not a bird or a beast but cries, '' Murder ! 

There goes the offender ! 
Dog him, waylay him, encompass him, stay him, 

And make him surrender I " 

My fl.ower=beds splendid seem eyes blood-distended — 
His eyes, ever staring, and flaring, and glaring ! 
I turn from them quickly, but phantoms more sickly 

Drive me hither and thither. 
I would forfeit most gladly wealth stolen so madly, 
Quitting grandeur and revelry to fly from this devilry, 

But whither — ! whither ? 

Hence, idle delusions ! hence, fears and confusions ! 
Not a single friend's severance lessens men's reverence, 
No neighbor of rank quits my sumptuous banquets 

Without lauding their donor. 
Throughout the wide county I 'm famed for my bounty, 

All hold me in honor. 

* The g in this word has the sound of 7. 

t A Greek divinity, worshiped as the goddess of vengeance, and regarded 
as the personification of the righteous anger of the gods. 



860 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

Let the dotard and craven by fear be enslaven ! 

They have vanished ! How fast fly these images ghastlv 

When, in firm self-reliance, ^' 

You determine on treating the brain's sickly cheating 

With scorn and defiance ! 

Ha ! ha ! I am fearless henceforward, and tearless ; 
No coinage of fancy, no dream's necromancy, 

aall sadden and darken God help me ! — hist ! hearken ' 

'Tis the shriek, soul-appalling, he uttered when falling ! 

Nerves a thousand times stronger could bear it no lon^'er ! 
Grief, sickness, compunction, dismay in conjunction. 
Nights and days ghost-prolific, more grim and terrific 

Than judges and juries, 
Make the heart writhe and falter more than gibbet and halter » 
Arrest me, secure me, seize, handcuff, immure me I 
I own my transgression — will make full confession ! — 
Quick! quick! Let me plunge in some dark-vaulted duno-eon, 
Where though tried and death-fated, I may not be baited 

By devils and furies ! horace smith. 

LIX. — THE SONG OF THE FORGE. 

Clang, clang ! the massive anvils ring ; 
Clang, clang ! a hundred hammers swing ; 
Like the thunder-rattle of a tropic sky, 
The mighty blows still multiply ; 

Clang, clang ! 
Say, brothers of the dusky brow. 
What are your strong arms forging now ? 
Clang, clang ! — We forge the colter now, - 
The colter of the kindly plow ; 
Prosper it. Heaven, and bless our toil ! 

May its broad furrow still u.nbind 

To genial rains, to sun and wind. 
The most benignant soil ! 
Clang, clang ! — Our colter's course shall be 
On many a sweet and sheltered lea, 

By many a streamlet's silver tide. 
Amid the song of morning birds, 
Amid the low of sauntering herds, 
Amid soft breezes which do stray 
Through woodbine hedges and sweet May, 

Along the green hill's side. 



THE SONG OF THE FORGE. 361 

When regal Autumn's bounteous hand 
With wide-spread glory clothes the land, — 
When to the valleys, from the brow 

Of each resplendent slope, is rolled 

A ruddy sea of living gold, — 
We bless — we bless the plow. 

Clang, clang ! — Again, my mates, what glows 
Beneath the hammer's potent blows ? — 
Clink, clank ! — We forge the giant chain, 
Which bears the gallant vessel's strain, 
'Mid stormy winds and adverse tides ; 

Secured by this, the good ship braves 

The rocky roadstead, and the waves 
Which thunder on her sides. 
Anxious no more, the merchant sees 
The mist drive dark before the breeze, 
The storm-cloud on the hill ; 

Calmly he rests, though far away 

In boisterous climes his vessel lay, 
E-eliant on our skill. 

Say on what sands these links shall sleep, 
Fathoms beneath the solemn deep ; 
By Afric's pestilential shore, — 
By many an iceberg, lone and hoar, — 

By many a palmy Western isle. 

Basking in Spring's perpetual smile, — 
By stormy Labrador. 
Say, shall they feel the vessel reel. 
When to the battery's deadly peal 
The crashing broadside makes reply ? 

Or else, as at the glorious Nile, 

Hold grappling ships, that strive the while 
For death or victory ? 

Hurra ! — Cling, clang ! — Once more, what glows, 

Dark brothers of the forge, beneath 
The iron tempest of your blows, 

The furnace's red breath ? 
Clang, clang ! — A burning torrent, clear 

And brilliant, of bright sparks, is poured 
Around and up in the dusky air, 

As our hammers forge the sword. 
The sword ! — a name of dread , yet when 

Upon the freeman's thigh 't is bound, 
oi 



362 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

While for his altar and his hearth,* 
While for the land that gave him birth, 

The war-drums roll, the trumpets sound, 
How sacred is it then ! 
Whenever for the truth and right 
It flashes in the van of fight, — 
Whether in some wild mountain-pass, 
As that where fell Leonidas, — 
Or on some sterile plain, and stern, 
A Marston or a Bannockburn, — 
Or 'mid fierce crags and bursting rills. 
The Switzer^s Alps, gray Tyrol's hills, — 
Or, as when sank the Ar-ma'da's pride, 
It gleams above the stormy tide, — 
Still, still, whene'er the battle-word 
Is Liberty, when men do stand 
For justice and their native land, 
Then Heaven bless the sword ! 



LX.— WHERE ARE THE DEAD? 

Where are the mighty ones of ages past, 
Who o'er the world their inspiration cast, — 
Whose memories stir our spirits like a blast ? — 

Where are the dead ? 
Where are the mighty ones of Greece ? Where be 
The men of Sparta and Thermopylse ? 
The conquering Macedonian, where is he ? — 

Where are the dead ? 

Where are Rome's founders ? Where her chiefest son. 
Before whose name the whole known world bowed down, — 
Whose conquering arm* chased the retreating sun? — 

Where are the dead ? 
Where 's the bard-warrior-king of Albion's state, 
A pattern for earth's sons to emulate, — 
The truly, nobly, wisely, goodly great ? — 

Where are the dead ? 
Where is Graul's hero, who aspired to be 
A second Caesar in his mastery, — 
To whom earth's crowned ones trembling bent the knee ? — 

Where are the dead ? 

*The ea in this word properly has the sound of a m father, though by some, 
hearth is pronounced as if it rhymed with birth. 



WHERE ARE THE DEAD? 363 

Where is Columbia's son, her darling child, 
Upon whose birth Virtue and Freedom smiled, — 
The Western Star, bright, pure, and undefiled ? — 
Where are the dead ? 

Where are the sons of song, the soul-inspired, — 
The bard of G-reece, whose muse (of heaven acquired) 
With admiration ages past has fired, — 

The classic dead ? 
Where is the poet * who in death was crowned, — 
Whose clay-cold temples laurel chaplets bound, 
Mocking the dust, — in life no honor found, — 

The insulted dead ? 

Greater than all, — an earthly sun enshrined, — 
Where is the king of bards ? Where shall we find 
The Swan of Avon, — monarch of the mind, — 

The mighty dead ? 
When their frail bodies died, did they all die, 
Like the brute dead, passing for ever by ? 
Then wherefore was their intellect so high, — 

The mighty dead ? 

Why was it not confined to earthly sphere, — 
To earthly wants ? If it must perish here, 
Why did they languish for a bliss more dear, — 

The blessed dead ? 
All things in nature are proportionate : 
Is man alone in an imperfect state, — 
He who doth all things rule and regulate ? — 

Then where the dead ? 

If here they perished, in their beings' germ, — 

Here were their thoughts', their hopes', their wishes' term, — 

Why should a giant's strength propel a worm ? — 

The dead ! the dead ! 
There are no dead ! The forms, indeed, did die. 
That cased the ethereal beings now on high ": 
'T is but the outward covering is thrown by : — 

This is the dead ! 

The spirits of the lost, of whom we sing, 
Have perished not ; they have but taken wing, — 
Changing an earthly for a heavenly spring : 
There are the dead ! 

* Torquato Tasso. 



364 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

Thus is all nature perfect. Harmony 
Pervades the whole, by His all-wise decree, 
With whom are those, to vast infinity, 

We misname dead. anon. 



LXL— SAID I TO MYSELF, SAID L 

" I 'm poor, and quite unknown ; I have neither fame nor rank ; 
My labor is all I own ; I have no gold at the bank ; 
I 'm one of the common crowd, despised of the passers-by, 
Contemned by the rich and proud," — said I to myself^ said I. 

^' I want, and I can not obtain, the luxuries of the earth ; 
My raiment is scant and plain, and I live in the fear of dearth ; 
While others can laugh or sing, I have ever some cause to sigh ; 
I 'm a weary wanderling," — said I to myself^ said J. 

" But is this grieving just ? Is it wise to fret and wail ? 
Is it right, thou speck of dust, thine envy should prevail ? 
Is it fitting thou shouldst close thy sight to the sunny sky, 
And an utter dark suppose ? " — said I to myself^ said L 

'' If poor, thou hast thy health; if humble, thou art strong ; 
And the lark, that knows not wealth, ever sings a happy song. 
The flowers rejoice in the air, and give thy needs the lie; 
Thou 'rt a fool to foster care," — said I to myself, said L 

" If the wants of thy pride be great, the needs of thy health are 

small ; 
And the world is the man's estate who can wisely enjoy it all. 
For him is the landscape spread, for him do the breezes ply. 
For him is the day-beam shed," — said I to myself said L 

" For him are the oceans rolled, for him do the rivers run. 
For him doth the year unfold her bounties to the sun ; 
For him, if his heart be pure, shall common things supply 
All pleasures that endure," — said I to myself said L 

" For him each blade of grass waves pleasure as it grows , 
For him, as the light clouds pass, a spirit of beauty flows ; 
For him, as the streamlets leap, or the winds on the tree-tops sigh, 
Comes a music sweet and deep," — said I to myself said I 

"Nor of earth are his joys alone, how mean soever his state — 
On him from the starry zone his ministering angels wait ; 
With him in voiceless thought they hold communion high ; 
By them are his fancies fraught," — said I to myself said L 



WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR. 365 

" I will mould my life afresh, I will circumscribe desire ; 
Farewell to ye, griefs of flesh ! and let my soul aspire. 
I will make my wishes few, that my joys may multiply ; 
Adieu, false wants, adieu ! " — said I to myself^ said I. 

CHARLES MACKAY. 



LXIL — WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR. 

Great King William spread before him 

All his stores of wealth untold, — 
Diamonds, emeralds, and rubies. 

Heaps on heaps of minted gold. 
Mournfully he gazed upon it 

As it glittered in the sun, 
Sighing to himself, *' ! treasure. 

Held in care, by sorrow won ! 
Millions think me rich and happy ; 

But, alas ! before me piled, 
I would give thee ten times over 
. For the slumbers of a child ! ' ' 

Great King William from his turret 

Heard the martial trumpets blow, 
Saw the crimson banners floating 

Of a countless host below ; 
Saw their weapons flash in sunlight, 

As the squadrons trod the sward ; 
And he sighed, "0, mighty army, 

Plear thy miserable lord : 
At my word thy legions gather — 

At my nod thy captains bend ; 
But, with all thy power and splendor, 

I would give thee for a friend ! " 

Great King William stood on Windsor, 

Looking, from its castled height, 
O'er his wide-spread realm of England 

Glittering in the morning light ; 
Looking on the tranquil river 

And the forest waving free, 
And he sighed, " ! land of beauty. 

Fondled by the circling sea, 
Mine thou art, but I would yield thee 

And be happy, could I gain. 
In exchange, a peasant's garden. 

And a conscience free from stain ! ' re. 

31* 



366 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

LXIIL — THE GLADIATOR. 

I SEE before me the Gladiator lie : 

He leans upon his hand ; his manly brow 
Consents to death, but conquers agony ; — 

And his drooped head sinks gradually low ; 

And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow 
From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one. 

Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now 
The arena swims around him — he is gone. 
Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won. 

He heard it, but he heeded not — his eyes 
Were with his heart, and that was far away ; 

He recked not of the life he lost, nor prize, 
But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, 
There were his young barbarians all at play, 

There was their Dacian mother — he, their sire, 
Butchered to make a Eoman holiday ! 

All this rushed with his blood. — Shall he expire, 
And unavenged ? Arise ! ye Goths, and glut your ire ! 

BYRON. 



LXIV. ^ LAMENTATION FOR THE DEATH OF CELIN.* 

At the gate of old Grana'da, when all its bolts are barred. 
At twilight, at the Yega-gate, there is a trampling heard ; 
There is a trampling heard, as of horses treading slow. 
And a weeping voice of women, and a heavy sound of woe. 
" What tower is fallen ? what star is set ? what chief come these 

bewailing ? " — 
" A tower is fallen ! A star is set ! — Alas ! alas for Celin ! " 

Three times they knock, three times they cry, and wide the doors 

they throw ; 
Dejectedly they enter, and mournfully they go ! 
In gloomy lines they mustering stand beneath the hollow porch, 
Each horseman grasping in his hand a black and flaming torch. 
Wet is each eye as they go by, and all around is wailing. 
For all have heard the misery, — " Alas ! alas for Celin ! " 

Him yesterday a Moor did slay, of Bencerraje's blood : 
'T was at the solemn jousting ; around the nobles stood ; 

* Pronounce Sd'ln. 



THE AMERICAN REPUBLIC. 367 

The nobles of the land were by, and ladies bright and fair 
Looked from their latticed windows, the haughty sight to share ; 
But now the nobles all lament, the ladies are bewailing, 
For he was Granada's darling knight, — " Alas ! alas for Celin ! " 

Before him ride his vassals, in order two by two, 
With ashes on their turbans spread, most pitiful to view ; 
Behind him his four sisters, each wrapped in sable veil, 
Between the tambour's dismal strokes take up their doleful tale ; 
When stops the muffled drum, ye hear their brotherless bewail- 
ing, 
And all the people, far and near, cry, " Alas ! alas for Celin ! " 

! lovely lies he on his bier above the purple pall. 

The flower of all Granada's youth, the loveliest of them all ; 

His dark, dark eye is closed, his rosy lip is pale, 

The crust of blood lies black and dim upon his burnished mail ; 

And evermore the hoarse tambour breaks in upon their wailing ; 

Its sound is like no earthly sound, — " Alas ! alas for Celin ! " 

The Moorish maid at her lattice stands, the Moor stands at his 

door ; 
One maid is wringing of her hands, and one is weeping sore. 
Down to the dust men bow their heads, and ashes black they 

strew 
Upon their broidered garments, of crimson, green, and blue ; 
Before each gate the bier stands still, then bursts the loud 

bewailing, 
From door and lattice, high and low, — "Alas ! alas for Celin ! " 

An old, old woman cometh forth, when she hears the people cry ; 

Her hair is white as silver, like horn her glazed eye ; 

'Twas she who nursed him at her breast, who nursed him long 

ago; 
She knows not whom they all lament, but, ah ! she soon shall 

know ! 
With one loud shriek, she through doth break, when her ears 

receive their wailing, — 
** Let me kiss my Celin ere I die ! — Alas ! alas for Celin ! " 

LOCKHART, 



LXV.— THE AMERICAN EEPUBLIC. 

The name of Commonwealth is past and gone 
O'er the three fractions of the groaning globe ; 

Yenice is crushed, and Holland deigns to own 
A scepter, and endures the purple robe ; 



368 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

If the free Switzer yet bestrides alone 

His chainless mountains, 't is but for a time, 

For Tyranny of late is cunning grown, 

And in its own good season tramples down 

The sparkles of our ashes. One great clime, 

Whose vigorous offspring by dividing ocean 

Are kept apart and nursed in the devotion 

Of Freedom, which their fathers fought for, and 

Bequeathed — a heritage of heart and hand, 

And proud distinction from each other land. 

Whose sons must bow them at a monarch's motion, 

As if his senseless scepter were a wand 

Full of the magic of exploded science — 

Still one great clime, in full and free defiance, 

Yet rears her crest, unconquered and sublime, 

Above the far Atlantic ! — She has taught 

Her Esau-brethren that the haughty flag, 

The floating fence of Albion's feebler crag, 

May strike to those whose red right hands have bought 

Rights cheaply earned with blood. Still, still for ever 

Better, though each man's life-blood were a river, 

That it should flow, and overflow, than creep 

Through thousand lazy channels in our veins. 

Dammed like the dull canal with locks and chains, 

And moving, as a sick man in his sleep. 

Three paces, and then faltering : — better be 

Where the extinguished Spartans still are free. 

In their proud charnel of Thermopylae, 

Than stagnate in our marsh, — or o'er the deep 

Fly, and one current to the ocean add, 

One spirit to the souls our fathers had. 

One freeman more, America, to thee ! byron. 



LXVL — THE LYRE AND THE SWORD. 

The following will be found suitable for delivery by three speakers. Let the 
First Speaker be on the right, the Second on the left, and the Third in the 
middle. The First and Second Speakers will distinguish between those 
parts of their stanzas addressed to the audience, and those parts addressed 
to the Third Speaker. 

FIRST SPEAKER. 

"0, ARM thee, youthful warrior, 

And gird me to thy side ! 
Come forth to breast, undaunted. 

The battle's crimson tide : 



THE LYRE AND THE BWORD. 369 

Where the clarion soundeth joyously 

A free and forward blast, 
And where, 'twixt death and victory, 

Lies all the choice thou hast ! " 
So, with full many a stirring word, 
Did speak the stern and clashing Sword * 

SECOND SPEAKER. 

But a Lyre hung near that falchion. 

From whose unheeded strings 
Came a low and plaintive murmur. 

Like the sound of viewless wings : 
*' 0, cast thy fearful arms away ! " — 

Such were the words it spake, — 
" And think on those that watch and pray 

Afar, for thy dear sake ! 
Ah, bring not thou the voice of tears 
Lito the home of thine early years 1 " 

FIRST SPEAKER. 

Again the Sword sang fiercely 

Its strain of martial glee : 
"0, arm thee, youthful warrior, — 

The battle waits for thee ! 
Think on thy hero-sire, who died 

Amid its wildest burst ; 
Think how his name hath glorified 

The home where thou wert nursed. 
Do not thy childhood's memories all 
Tell brightly of his fame and fall ? " 

SECOND SPEAKER. 

" But, ah ! " the sad Lyre whispered, 

" How terrible to die. 
While youth, and joy, and honor 

Shine in the cloudless eye ! 
Think how thy mother wept and kneeled 

That sire's low tomb before ; 
At length her fount of tears is sealed, — 

0, open it no more ! 
Is it thy hand that should unfold 
The memory of her griefs of old ? " 

Pronounced sordy by Walker, Smart, and the best English authorities. 



370 LYRICAL AND NABRATIVE PIECES. 

FIRST SPEAKER. 

The Sword spake yet more proudly : 

" Which lifts the bitterer cry, 
The grief for those who perish, 

Or the shame for those who fly ? 
When thou shalt join the mighty slain. 

When life's brief day is done, 
Wouldst have thy hero-sire disdain 

To own thee for a son ? 
How should he brook his line's disgrace ? 
How couldst thou look upon his face ? " 

THIRD SPEAKER. 

Out spake that youthful warrior : ^ 

" Good Sword, thou counselest well ; 
Come with me to the battle, 

Where my true father fell : 
Fair Honor is the queen I serve, 

Bright Fame the gem I seek ; 
Nor will I suffer, nor deserve, 

A blush to stain my cheek ! 
Unshaken let me ever stand, 
Honor at heart, and sword in hand ! 

" And thou, fond Lyre, remember 

Thou art not wont to weep 
On those who tamely perish 

In slothfulness and sleep ; 
Still have thy noblest strains been poured 

Above the true and free ; 
Still loves the Lyre to grace the Sword — 

So let it ever be ! 
The Sword t to win my victor- wreath. 
The Lyre to solemnize my death ! '' anon. 



LXVIL — ADVANCE. 



God bade the Sun with golden steps sublime 

Advance ! 
He whispered in the listening ear of Time, 

Advance ! 

* It may be more effective to omit this line in the delivery, 
t Here a hand on the First's shoulder ; at Lyre on the Second's, and a look 
upward. 



ADVANCE. 371 

He bade the guiding spirits of the Stars, 
With lightning speed, in silver shining cars, 
Along the bright floor of his azure hall, 

Advance ! 
Sun, Stars, and Time, obey the voice, and all 

Advance ! 

The River at its bubbling fountain cries 

Advance ! 
The Clouds proclaim, like heralds, through the skies, 

Advance ! 
Throughout the world the mighty Master's laws 
Allow not one brief moment's idle pause. 
The Earth is full of life, the swelling seeds 

Advance ! 
And Summer hours, like flowery-harnessed steeds, 

Advance ! 

To Man's most wondrous hand the same voice cried 

Advance ! 
Go clear the woods, and o'er the bounding tide 

Advance ! 
Go draw the marble from its secret bed, 
And make the cedar bend its giant head : 
Let domes and columns through the wondering air 

Advance ! 
The world, Man ! is thine. But wouldst thou share ? 

Advance ! 

Unto the soul of man the same voice spoke, — 

Advance ! 
From out the chaos, thunder-like, it broke, — 

Advance ! 
Go track the comet in its wheeling race, 
And drag the lightning from its hiding-place : 
From out the night of ignorance and fears, 

Advance ! 
For Love and Hope, borne by the coming years, 

Advance ! 

O, Ireland ! — 0, my country ! wilt thaic not 

Advance ? 
Wilt thou not share the world's progressive lot — 

Advance ? 



372 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

Must seasons change, and countless years roll on, 
And thou remain a darksome Ajalon ? ^ 
And never see the crescent moon of Hope 

Advance ? 
'T is time thine heart and eye had wider scope — 

Advance ! 

Dear brothers, wake ! look up ! be firm ! be strong ! 

Advance ! 
From out the starless night of fraud and wrong, 

Advance ! 
The chains have fallen from off thy wasted hands, 
And every man a seeming freedman stands ; 
But, ah ! 't is in the soul that freedom dwells, — 

Advance ! 
Proclaim that then thou wear'st no manacles, — 

Advance ! 

Advance ! thou must advance or perish now ; — 

Advance ! 
Advance ! Why live with wasted heart and brow ; — 

Advance ! 
Advance ! or shrink at once into the grave ; 
Be bravely free, or artfully a slave : • 

Why fret thy master, if thou must have one ? — 

Advance ! 
" Advance three steps, the glorious work is done ! " — 

Advance ! 

The first is Courage — 't is a giant stride ! — 

Advance ! 
With bounding steps up Freedom's rugged side 

Advance ! 
Knowledge will lead you to the dazzling heights, — 
Tolerance will teach and guard your brothers' rights : 
Faint not ! for thee a pitying Future waits, — 

Advance ! 
Be wise, be just ; with will as fixed as Fate's, 

Advance! b. f. m'carthy. 



LXVIII, — GREECE. 

He who hath 'bent him o'er the dead, 
Ere the first day of death is fled, 
The first dark day of nothingness, 
The last of danger and distress, 

* Ajalon derives its renown from the command of Joshua : ^^Sun, stand 
thou still on Gibcon, and thou^ moon^ in the valley of Ajalon." 



GREECE. 373 

Before Decay's effacing fingers 

Have swept the lines where beauty lingers, 

And marked the mild, angelic air, 

The rapture of repose, that 's there. 

The fixed yet tender traits that streak 

The languor of the placid cheek — 

And but for that sad, shrouded eye, 

That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now, 
And but for that chill, changeless brow. 
Where cold obstruction's apathy 
Appalls the gazing mourner's heart. 
As if to him it could impart 
The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon — 
Yes, but for these, and these alone. 
Some moments, say, one treacherous hour, — 
He still might doubt the tyrant's power ; 
So fair, so calm, so softly sealed, 
The first — last look by death revealed ! 
Such is the aspect of this shore — 
'T is Greece — but living Greece no more ! 
So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, 
We start — for soul is wanting there. 
Hers is the loveliness in death, 
That parts not quite with parting breath ; 
But beauty with that fearful bloom. 
That hue which haunts it to the tomb — 
Expression's last receding ray, 

A gilded halo hovering round decay, 

The farewell beam of feeling past away ! 

Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth. 

Which gleams, but warms no more its cherished earth. 

Clime of the unforgotten brave ! 
Whose land from plain to mountain-cave 
Was Freedom's home or Glory's grave ! 
Shrine of the mighty ! can it be 
That this is all remains of thee ? 
Approach, thou craven, crouching slave ! 

Say, is not this Thermopylae ? 
These waters blue that round you lave, 

O servile offspring of the free — 
Pronounce what sea, what shore is this ? 
The gulf, the rock, of Salamis ! ^ 

These scenes, their story not unknown, 
32 



374 LYRICAL AND NAERATIVE PIECES. 

Arise, and make again jour own : 

Snatch from the ashes of your sires 

The embers of their former fires ; 

And he who in the strife expires 

Will add to theirs a name of fear, 

That Tyranny shall quake to hear. 

And leave his sons a hope, a fame, 

They too will rather die than shame ; 

For Freedom's battle once begun. 

Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son. 

Though baffled oft, is ever won. byiion, 



LXIX. — THE BATTLE OF BEAL' AN DUINE', 

No cymbal clashed, no clarion rung, 

Still were the pipe and drum ; 
Save heavy tread, and armor's clang, 

The sullen march was dumb. 
The vaward scouts no tidings bring, 

Can rouse no lurking foe. 
Nor spy a trace of living thing 

Save when they stirred the roe. 
The host moves like a deep sea-wave 
Where rise no rocks its pride to brave ; 
While, to explore the dangerous glen. 
Dive through the pass the archer-men. 

At once there rose so wild a yell 
Within that dark and narrow dell, 
As all the fiends from heaven that fell 
Had pealed the banner cry of hell ! 
Forth from the pass in tumult driven. 
Like chaff before the wind of heaven. 

The archery appear : 
For life ! for life ! their flight they ply — 
And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry, 
And plaids and bonnets waving high, 
And broadswords flashing to the sky, 
Are maddening: in the rear. 
Onward they drive in dreadful race, 

Pursuers and pursued ; 
Before that tide of flight and chase. 
How shall it keep its rooted place, 



THE BATTLE OF BEAL AN DUINE . 375 

The spearmen's twilight wood ? 

— " Down ! down ! " cried Mar, " your lances down ! 
Bear back both friend and foe ! " 

Like reeds before the tempest's frown, 
That serried grove of lances brown 

At once lay leveled low ; 
And closely shouldering side to side, 
The bristling ranks the onset bide. 

— " We '11 quell the savage mountaineer, 
As their tinchel ^ cows the game ! 

They come as fleet as forest deer, — 
We'll drive them back as tame." 

Bearing before them, in their course, 
The relics of the archer force, 
Like wave with crest of sparkling foam, 
Bight onward did Clan- Alpine come. 

Above the tide, each broadsword bright 

Was brandishing like beam of light, 
Each targe was dark below ; 

And, with the ocean's mighty swing, 

When heaving to the tempest's wing, 
They hurled them on the foe. 
I heard the lance's shivering crash. 
As when the whirlwind rends the ash ! 
I heard the broadsword's deadly clang. 
As if a hundred anvils rang ! 
But Moray wheeled his rearward rank 
Of horsemen on Clan- Alpine's flank — 

" My banner-men, advance ! 
I see," he cried, " their column shake — 
Now, gallants ! for your ladies' sake, 
Upon them with the lance ! " 
The horsemen dashed among the rout, 

As deer break through the broom ; 
Their steeds are stout, their swords are out. 

They soon make lightsome room. 
Clan-Alpine's best are backward borne — 

Where, where was Boderick then ? 
One blast upon his bugle-horn 

Were worth a thousand men. 
And refluent through the pass of fear 

* A Tinchell is a circle of sportsmen, who, by surrounding a great space, 
and gradually narrowing, bring immense quantities of deer together. 



376 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

The battle's tide was poured ; 
Vanished the Saxon's struggling spear, 

Vanished the mountain sword. 
As Bracklinn's chasm, so black and steep, 

Keceives her roaring linn, 
As the dark caverns of the deep 

Suck the wild whirlpool in, 
So did the d-eep and darksome pass 
Devour the battle's mingled mass : 
None linger now upon the plain, 
Save those who ne'er shall fight again ! scott. 



LXX. — THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. 

Stop ! for thy tread is on an empire's dust ; 

An earthquake's spoil is sepulchered below ! 
Is the spot marked with no colossal bust ? 

Nor column trophied for triumphal show ? 

None ; but the moral's truth tells simpler so. 
As the ground was before, thus let it be. 

How that red rain hath made the harvest grow I 
And is this all the world has gained by thee. 
Thou first and last of fields, king-making Victory ? 

There was a sound of revelry by nighty 
And Belgium's capital had gathered then 

Her beauty and her chivalry ; and bright 

The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men : 
A thousand hearts beat happily ; and when 

Music arose, with its voluptuous swell, 

Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again ; 

And all went merry as a marriage-bell. 
But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell ! 

Did ye not hear it ? No ; 't was but the wind. 
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street : 

On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined ! 

No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet 
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet ! 

But, hark ! that heavy sound breaks in once more. 
As if the clouds its echo would repeat ; 

And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before. 
Arm ! arm ! it is, it is the cannon's opening roar ! 



TUBAL CAIN. 377 

Within a windowed niche of that hio-h hall 
Sat Brunswick's fated chieftain ; he did hear 

That sound the first amidst the festival, 

And caught its tone with death's prophetic ear : 
And when they smiled because he deemed it near, 

His heart more truly knew that peal too well, 
"Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, 

And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell : 
He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell ! 

Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, 

And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, 
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago 

Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness ;. 

And there were sudden partings, such as press 
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 

Which ne'er might be repeated : who could guess 
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes. 
Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise ! 

And there was mounting in hot haste : the steed, 

The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, 
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed. 

And swiftly forming in the ranks of war ; 

And the deep thunder, peal on peal, afar, 
And near, the beat of the alarming drum 

Roused up the soldier ere the morning-star ; 
While thronged the citizens, with terror dumb, 
Or whispering, with white lips, " The foe ! they come ! they 
come ! " 

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life ; 

Last eve, in beauty's circle, proudly gay ; 
The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife ; 

The morn, the marshaling in arms — the day. 

Battle's magnificently stern array ! 
The thunder-clouds close o'er it ; which, when rent, 

The earth is covered thick with other clay. 
Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent. 
Rider and horse, friend, foe, in one red burial blent. byron. 



LXXL — TUBAL CAIN. 

Old Tubal Cain was a man of might 

In the days when the earth was young ; 
By the fierce red light of his furnace bright 

32^ 



378 LYRICAL AND NAKRATIVE PIECES, 

The strokes of his hammer rung ; 
And he lifted high his brawny hand 

On the iron glowing clear, 
Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers, 

As he fashioned the sword and spear : 
And he sang, " Hurra for my handiwork ! 

Hurra for the spear and sword ! 
Hurra for the hand that wields them well, 

For he shall be king and lord ! " 

To Tubal Cain came many a one, 

As he wrought by his roaring fire ; 
And each one prayed for a strong steel blade, 

As the crown of his heart's desire. 
And he made them weapons sharp and strong, 

Till they shouted loud for glee. 
And gave him gifts of pearl and gold. 

And spoils of the forest tree ; 
And they sang, ^' Hurra for Tubal Cain, 

Who has given us strength anew ! 
Hurra for the smith, and hurra for the fire. 

And hurra for the metal true ! " 

But a sudden change came o'er his heart 

Ere the setting of the sun ; 
And Tubal Cain was filled with pain. 

For the evil he had done. 
He saw that men, with rage and hate. 

Made war upon their kind, — 
That the land was fed with the blood they shed, 

And their lust for carnage blind ; 
And he said, " Alas ! that ever I made, 

Or that skill of mine should plan. 
The spear and sword for man, whose joy 

Is to slay his fellow-man." 

And for many a day old Tubal Cain 

Sat brooding o'er his woe ; 
And his hand forbore to smite the ore, 

And his furnace smouldered low ; 
But he rose at last with a cheerful face, 

And a bright, courageous eye. 
And he bared his strong arm for the work, 

While the quick flames mounted high ; 
And he said, '' Hurra for my handiwork I " 

And the fire-sparks lit the air ; 



THE BEAUTIFUL. 379 

" Not alone for the blade was .the bright steel made ! " 
And he fashioned the first plowshare ! 

And men, taught wisdom from the past, 

In friendship joined their hands; 
Hmig the sword in the hall, and the spear on the wall, 

And plowed the willing lands ; 
And sang, '' Hurra for Tubal Cain ! 

Our staunch good friend is he ; 
And for the plowshare and the plow 

To him our prize shall be ! 
But while oppression lifts its hand, 

Or a tyrant would be lord. 
Though we may thank him for the plow. 

We '11 not forget the sword ! " Charles mack ay. 



LXXII.— THE BEAUTIFUL. 

Walk with the Beautiful and with the Grrand ; 

Let nothing on the earth thy feet deter ; 
Sorrow may lead thee weeping by the hand, 

But give not all thy bosom thoughts to her. 
Walk with the Beautiful ! 

I hear thee say, " The Beautiful ! what is it ? " 

0, thou art darkly ignorant ! Be sure 
'T is no long, weary road, its form to visit, 

For thou canst make it smile beside thy door. 
Then love the Beautiful ! 

Ay, love it ; 't is a sister that will bless. 

And teach thee patience when thy heart is lonely ; 

The angels love it, for they wear its dress, 
And thou art made a little lower only : 
Then love the Beautiful ' 

Some boast its presence in a Grecian face ; 

Some in a favorite warbler of the skies ; 
But be not fooled ! Whate'er thy eye may trace, 

Seekinoj the Beautiful, it will arise : 
Then seek it every where ! 

Thy bosom is its mint ; the workmen are 

Thy thoughts, and they must coin for thee. Believing 
The Beautiful exists in every star, 

Thou mak'st it so ; and art thyself deceiving. 
If otherwise thy faith. 



380 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

Dost thou see Beauty in the violet's cup ? 

I '11 teach thee miracles. Walk on this heath, 
And say to the neglected flowers, " Look up, 

And be ye beautiful ! " If thou hast faith. 
They will obey thy word. 

One thing I warn thee : bow no knee to gold ; 

Less innocent it makes the guileless tongue ; 
It turns the feelings prematurely old ; 

And they who keep their best affections young 
Best love the Beautiful ! 

E. PI. BURRINGTON. 



LXXIIL — CHILDE HAROLD'S DEPARTURE. 

Adieu ! adieu ! My native shore fades o'er the waters blue ; 
The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, and shrieks the wild 

sea-mew. 
Yon sun that sets u.pon the sea we follow in his flight ; 
Farewell a while to him and thee : my native land, good-night ! 

A few short hours, and he will rise to give the morrow birth ; 
And I shall hail the main and skies, but not my mother earth. 
Deserted is my own good hall, its hearth is desolate ; 
Wild weeds are gathering on the wall, my dog howls at the gate. 

Come hither, hither, my little page ! why dost thou weep and wail ? 
Or dost thou dread the billow's rage, or tremble at the gale ? 
But dash the tear-drop from thine eye ; our ship is swift and strong : 
Our fleetest falcon ^ scarce can fly more merrily along. 

" Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high ! I fear not wave nor wind ; 
Yet marvel not. Sir Childe, that I am sorrowful in mind ; 
For I have from my father gone, a mother whom I love, 
And have no friend save these alone, but thee — and One above. 

" My father blessed me fervently, yet did not much complain ; 
But sorely will my mother sigh till I come back again." — 
Enough, enough, my little lad ! such tears become thine eye ; 
If I thy guileless bosom had, mine own would not be dry. 

Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman ! why dost thou look so 

pale? 
Or dost thou dread a French foeman, or shiver at the gale ? — 
"• Deem'st thou I tremble for my life ? Sir Childe, I 'm not so weak : 
But, thinking on an absent wife will blanch a faithful cheek. 

* The / in this word is unsounded, and the a has the sound of a \nfalL 



j:he fate of the friendless. 381 

" My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall, along the bordering lake ; 
And when they on their father call, what answer shall she make ? " 
Enough, enough, my yeoman good ! thy grief let none gainsay ; 
But I, that am of lighter' mood, will laugh to flee away. 

And now I 'm in the world alone, upon the wide, wide sea : 
But why should I for others groan, when none will sigh for me ? 
Perchance my dog will whine in vain, till fed by stranger-hands ; 
But, long ere I come back again, he 'd tear me where he stands. 

With thee, my bark, I '11 swiftly go athwart the foaming brine ; 
Nor care what land thou bear'st me to, so not again to mine ! 
Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves ! and when you fail my 

sight, 
Welcome, ye deserts and ye caves ! My native land, good-=night ! 

BYRON. 



LXXIY. — THE FATE OF THE FRIENDLESS. 

My life is like the summer rose, 

That opens to the morning sky, 
But ere the shades of evening close 

Is scattered on the ground — to die ; 
Yet on that rose's humble bed 
The sweetest dews of night are shed, 
As if she wept such waste to see — 
But none shall weep a tear for me ! 

My life is like the autumn leaf 

That trembles in the moon's pale ray ; 
Its hold is frail, its date is brief, 

Bestless, and soon to pass away ; 
Yet ere that leaf shall fall and fade, 
The parent tree will mourn its shade ; 
The winds bewail the leafless tree — 
But none shall breathe a sigh for me ! 

My life is like the prints which feet 

Have left on Tampa's desert strand ; 
Soon as the rising tide shall beat, 

All trace will vanish from the sand ; 
Yet, as if grieving to efface 
All vestige of the human race, 
On that lone shore loud moans the sea — 
But none, alas ! shall mourn for me ! 

R. H. WILDE. 



382 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

LXXV. — LIFE WITHOUT FREEDOM. 

Prom life without freedom, say, who would not fly ? 
For one day of freedom, ! who would not die ? 
Hark ! hark ! 't is the trumpet ! the call of the brave 
The death-song of tyrants, the dirge of the slave. 
Our country lies bleeding — ! fly to her aid ; 
One arm that defends is worth hosts that invade. 
From life without freedom, ! who would not fly? 
For one day of freedom, ! who would not die ? 

In death's kindly bosom our last hope remains — 
The dead fear no tyrants, the grave has no chains ! 
On, on to the combat ! the heroes that bleed 
For virtue, for mankind, are heroes indeed. 
And, ! even if Freedom from this world be driven, 
Despair not — at least we shall find her in heaven. 
In death's kindly bosom our last hope remains, — 
The dead fear no tyrants, the grave has no chains ! 

T. MOORE. 



LXXVL — WAR THE GAME OF TYRANTS. 

Hark ! heard you not those hoofs of dreadful note ? 

Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath ? 
Saw ye not whom the reeking saber smote, 

Nor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath 

Tyrants and tyrants' slaves ? — The fires of death. 
The bale-fires flash on high : — from rock to rock. 

Each volley tells that thousands cease to breathe ; 
Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc, 
Red Battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock ! 

Lo ! where the Giant on the mountain stands, 

His blood-red tresses deepening in the sun, 
With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands, 

And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon ; 

Hestless it rolls, now fixed, and now anon 
Flashing afar, — and at his irOn feet 

Destruction cowers to mark what deeds are done ; 
For, on this morn, three potent nations meet 
To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most sweet. 

Three hosts combine to oifer sacrifice ; 

Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high ; 



BELIEF IN A FUTURE STATE. 383 

Three gaudy standards flout the pale blue skies ; 

The shouts are France, Spain, Albion, Victory ! 

The foe, the victim, and the fond al-ly' 
That fights for all, but ever fights in vain. 

Are met — as if at home they could not die — 
To feed the crow on Tal-a-ve'ra's plain, 
And fertilize the field that each pretends to gain. 

There shall they rot — Ambition's honored fools !• 
Yes, Honor decks the turf that wraps their clay ! 

Yain sophistry ! in these behold the tools. 
The broken tools, that tyrants cast away 
By myi'iads, when they dare to pave their way 

With human hearts — to what ? — a dream alone. 
Can despots compass aught that hails their sway ? 

Or call with truth one span of earth their own, 
Save that wherein at last they crumble bone by bone ? 

BYRON. 



LXXVII. — BELIEF IN A FUTURE STATE. 

! LIVES there. Heaven, beneath thy dread expanse, 

One hapless, dark idolater of Chance, 

Content to feed, with pleasures unrefined. 

The lukewarm passions of a lowly mind ; ' 

Who, mouldering earthward 'reft of every trust, 

In joyless union wedded to the dust, 

Could all his parting energy dismiss, 

And call this barren world sufficient bliss ? — 

There live, alas ! of heaven-directed mien, 

Of cultured soul and sapient eye serene, 

Who hail thee, man, the pilgrim of a day, 

Spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay, 

Frail as the leaf in Autumn's yellow bower, 

Dust in the wind, or dew upon the flower ; 

A friendless slave, a child without a sire. 

Whose mortal life and momentary fire 

Light to the grave his chance-created form, 

As ocean-wrecks illuminate the storm'; 

And when the g-un's tremendous flash is o'er. 

To night and silence sink for evermore ! 

Are these the pompous tidings ye proclaim, 
Lights of the world, and demigods of Fame ? 



384 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

Is this jour triumph, — this your proud applause, 
Children of Truth and champions of her cause ? 
For this hath Science searched, on weary wing, 
By shore and sea, each mute and living thing ? 
Launched with Iberia's pilot from the steep, 
To worlds unknown and isles beyond the deep ? 
Or round the cope her living chariot driven, 
And wheeled in triumph through the signs of heaven ? 

! star-eyed Science, hast thou wandered there 
To waft us home the message of despair ? 
Then bind the palm, thy sage's brow to suit, 

Of blasted leaf and death-distilling fruit ! 

Ah me ! the laureled leaf that Murder rears. 
Blood nursed, and watered by the widow's tears. 
Seems not so foul, so tainted, and so dread. 
As waves the night-shade round the skeptic's head. 
What is the bigot's torch, the tyrant's chain ? 

1 smile on death, if heavenward Hope remain ! 
But if the warring winds of Nature's strife 
Be all the faithless charter of my life, — 

If Chance awaked, inexorable power, 
This frail and feverish being of an hour, — 
Doomed o'er the world's precarious scene to sweep. 
Swift as the tempest travels on the deep, 
To know Delight but by her parting smile. 
And toil, and wish, and weep, a little while ; — 
Then melt, ye elements, that formed in vain 
This troubled pulse and visionary brain ! 
Fade, ye wild flowers, memorials of my doom ! 
And sink, ye stars, that light me to the tomb ! 

Truth, ever lovely, — since the world began, 

The foe of tyrants, and the friend of man, — 

How can thy words from balmy slumber start 

Beposing Virtue pillowed on the heart ! 

Yet, if thy voice the note of thunder rolled, 

And that were true which Nature never told, 

Let Wisdom smile not on her conquered field, — 

No rapture dawns, no treasure is revealed ! 

! let her read, nor loudly, nor elate, 

The doom that bars us from a better fate ; 

But, sad as angels for the good man's sin. 

Weep to record, and blush to give it in ! Campbell. 



MODULATION IN SPEAKING. 385 

LXXVni. — MODULATION IN SPEAKING. 

'T IS not enough the voice be sound and clear ; 
'T is modulation that must charm the ear. 
When desperate heroines grieve with tedious moan 
And whine their sorrows in a see-saw tone, 
The same soft sounds of unimpassioned woes 
Can only make the yawning hearers doze. 
The voice all modes of passion can express, 
That marks the proper word with proper stress. 
But none emphatic can that actor call, 
Who lays an equal emphasis on all. 

Some o'er the tongue the labored measures roll. 
Slow and deliberate as the parting toll : 
Point every step, mark every pause so strong, 
Their words, like stage processions, stalk along. 
All affectation but creates disgust. 
And e'en in speaking we may seem too just. 

In vain for them the pleasing measure flows, 
Whose recitation runs it all to prose ; 
Repeating what the poet sets not down. 
The verb disjoining from its friendly noun. 
While pause, and break, and repetition, join 
To make a discord in each tuneful line. 

Some placid natures fill the allotted scene 
With lifeless drone, insipid, and serene ; 
While others thunder every couplet o'er, 
And almost crack your ears with rant and roar. 

More nature oft and finer strokes are shown 
In the low whisper, than tempestuous tone ; 
And Hamlet's hollow voice and fixed amaze 
More powerful terror to the mind conveys. 
Than he who, swollen with big, impetuous rage, 
Bullies the bulky phantom off the stage. 

He who in earnest studies o'er his part 
Will find true nature cling about his heart. 
The modes of grief are not included all 
In the white handkerchief and mournful drawl ; 
A single look more marks the internal woe 
Than all the windings of the lengthened O I 
Up to the face the C|uick sensation flies, 
And darts its meaning from the speaking eyes : 
Love, transport, madness, anger, scorn, despair, 
And all the passions, all the soul, is there. lloyd. 

33 



386 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

LXXIX. ~ RODERICK DHU'S VINDICATION. 

OF THE PREDATORY HABITS OF HIS CLAN. 

Saxon, from yonder mountain high, 

I marked thee send delighted eje, 

Far to the south and east, where lay, 

Extended in succession gay, 

Deep waving fields and pastures green. 

With gentle slopes and groves between : — 

These fertile plains, that softened vale, 

Were once the birthright of the Gael ; 

The stranger came with iron hand, 

And from our fathers reft the land. 

Where dwell we now ? — See, rudely swell 

Crag over crag, and fell o'er fell. 

Ask we this savage hill we tread 

For fattened steer or household bread ? 

Ask we for food these shingles dry ? 

And well the mountain might reply, — ^ 

" To you, as to your sires of yore, 

Belong the target and clay-more' ! 

I give you shelter in my breast, 

Your own good blades must win the rest." — 

Pent in this fortress of the north, 

Thinkst thou we will not sally forth 

To spoil the spoiler as we may. 

And from the robber rend the prey ? 

Ay, by my soul ! — While on yon plain 

The Saxon rears one shock of grain, — 

While, of ten thousand herds, there strays 

But one along yon river's maze, — 

The G-ael, of plain and river heir, 

Shall, with strong hand, redeem his share. 

SCOTT. 



LXXX.— OCCASION. 



" Say, who art thou, with more than mortal air, 
Endowed by Heaven with gifts and graces rare, 
Whom restless, winged feet for ever onward bear ? " 

" I am Occasion — known to few, at best ; 

And since one foot upon a wheel I rest, 

Constant my movements are — they cannot be repressed. 



WHY THUS LONGING ? 387 

" Not the swift eagle in his swiftest flight 

Can equal me in speed, — my wings are bright ; 

And man, who sees them waved, is dazzled by the sight 

** My thick and flowing locks before me thrown 
Conceal my form, — nor face nor breast is shown, 
That thus, as I approach, my coming be not known. 

*' Behind my head no single lock of hair 
Invites the hand that fain would grasp it there ; 
But he who lets me pass to seize me may desnair." 

*' Whom, then, so close behind thee do I see ? " — 
" Her name is Penitence ; and Heaven's decree 
Hath made all those her prey who profit not by me." 



LXXXI. — WHY THUS LONGING? 

Why thus longing, thus for ever sighing, 
For the far off, unattained, and dim, 

While the beautiful, all round thee lying, 
Offers up its low perpetual hymn ? 

Wouldst thou listen to its gentle teaching. 
All thy restless yearnings it would still ; 

Leaf and flower and laden bee are preaching. 
Thine own sphere, though humble, first to fill. 

Poor, indeed, thou must be, if around thee 
Thou no ray of light and joy canst throw ; 

If no silken cord of love hath bound thee 
To some little world through weal and woe ; 

If no dear eyes thy fond love can brighten. 
No fond voices answer to thine own ; 

If no brother's sorrow thou canst lighten, 
By daily sympathy and gentle tone. 

Not by deeds that win the crowd's applauses, 
Not by works that give thee world-renown, 

Not by martyrdom, or vaunted crosses. 

Canst thou win and wear the immortal crown. 

Daily struggling, though unloved and lonely, 
Every day a rich reward will give ; 

Thou wilt find, by hearty striving only. 
And truly loving, thou canst truly live. 



388 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

Dost thou revel in the rosy morning, 
When all nature hails the lord of light, 

And his smile, the mountain tops adorning, 
Kobes yon fragrant fields in radiance bright ? 

Other hands may grasp the field and forest, 
Proud proprietors in pomp may shine ; 

But with fervent love if thou adorest. 

Thou art wealthier, — all the world is thine ! 

Yet, if through earth's wide domains thou revest. 
Sighing that they are not thine atone. 

Not those fair fields, but thyself thou lovest. 
And their beauty and thy worth are gone. 

Nature wears the colors of the spirit ; 

Sweetly to her worshiper she sings ; 
All the glow, the grace she does inherit, 

Kound her trusting child she fondly flings ! 

IIAREIET WINSLOW. 



LXXXIL— ALEXANDER AND DIOGENES. 

When Alexander the Great asked Diogenes, the Cynic philosopher, if he 
could oblige him in any way, the latter replied, " Yes ; you can stand out 
of my sunshine." 

Slowly the monarch turned aside : 

But when his glance of youthful pride 

Rested upon the warriors gray 

Who bore his lance and shield that day. 

And the long line of spears that came 

Through the far groves like waves of flame, — 

Then Alexander's pulse beat high. 

More darkly flashed his shifting eye. 

And visions of the battle-plain 

Came bursting on his soul again. 

Quick turned Diogenes ^ away 
Right gladly from that long array. 
As if their presence were a blight 
Of pain and sickness to his sight ; 
And slowly folding o'er his breast 
The fragments of his tattered vest. 
As was his wont, unasked, unsought. 
Gave to the winds his muttered thought, 

* Pronounced Di'oj'e-nes, 



ALEXANDER AND DIOGENES, 389 

Naming no name of friend or foe, 
And reckless if they heard or no. 

" Aj, go thy way, thou painted thing — 
Puppet, which mortals call a king ! 
Adorning thee with idle gems, 
With drapery and diadems, 
And scarcely guessing that beneath 
The purple robe and laurel wreath 
There 's nothing but the common slime 
Of human clay and human crime ! 
My rags are not so rich ; but they 
Will serve as well to cloak decay. 

" And ever round thy jeweled brow 
False slaves and falser friends will bow , 
And Flattery — as varnish flings 
A brightness on the basest things — 
Will make the monarch's deeds appear 
All worthless to the monarch's ear, 
Till thou wilt turn and think that Fame, 
So vilely drest, is worse than shame ! 
The gods be thanked for all their mercies ! 
Dioorenes hears nauc^ht but curses. 

* And thou wilt banquet ! air and sea 
Will render up their hoards for thee ; 
And golden cups for thee will hold 
E-ich nectar, richer than the gold. 
The cunning caterer still must share 
The dainties which his toils prepare ; 
The page's lip must taste the wine 
Before he fills the cup for thine ! 
Wilt feast with me on Hec'ate's cheer ? 
I dread no royal hemlock here. 

*' And night will come ; and thou wilt lie 
Beneath a purple canopy, 
With lutes to lull thee, flowers to shed 
Their feverish fragrance round thy bed ; 
A princess to unclasp thy crest, 
A Spartan spear to guard thy rest. — 
Dream, happy one ! — thy dreams will be 
Of danger and of perfidy ; — 
The Persian lance, the Carian club ! — 
I shall sleep sounder in mv tub ! 
33^ 



S90 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

<' And tliou wilt pass away, and have 
A marble mountain o'er thy grave, 
With pillars tall and chambers vast, 
Fit palace for the worms' repast ! 
I too shall perish ! — let them call 
The vulture to my funeral ! 
The Cynic's staff, the Cynic's den, 
Are ail he leaves his fellow-men ; 
Heedless how his corruption fares, — 
Yea, heedless though it mix with theirs ! " 

PRAED {altered) 



LXXXm. — WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE. 

Woodman, spare that tree — touch not a single bough ! 
In youth it sheltered me, and I '11 protect it now. 
'T was my forefather's hand that placed it near his cot ; 
There, woodman, let it stand — thy ax shall harm it not ! 

That old familiar tree, whose glory and renown 
Are spread o'er land and sea — and wouldst thou hack it down ? 
Woodman, forbear thy stroke - — cut not its earth-bound ties ; 
O, spare that aged oak, now towering to the skies ! 

When but an idle boy, I sought its grateful shade ; 
In all their gushing joy, here, too, my sisters played. 
My mother kissed me here ; my father pressed my hand ; — 
Forgive this foolish tear, but let that old oak stand ! 

My heart-strings round thee cling, close as thy bark, old friend ! 
Here shall the wild bird sing, and still thy branches bend. 
Old tree, the storm still brave ! And, woodman, leave the spot ; 
While I 've ^ hand to save, thy ax shall harm it not ! 

GEORGE p. MORRIS. 



LXXXIV.— A FxlREWELL. 

Farewell ! but whenever you welcome the hour 
Which awakens the night-song of mirth in your bower, 
Then think of the friend who once welcomed it too, 
And forgot his ov/n griefs to be happy with you. 
His griefs may return ; not a hope may remain, 
Of the few that have brightened his pathway of pain, 
But he ne'er will forget the short vision that threw 
Its enchantments around him while lingering with you. 



THE EUINS OF ROME. 391 

And still on that evening, when pleasure fills up 

To the highest top sparkle each heart and each cup, 

Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright, 

My soul, happy friends ! shall be with you that night ; 

Shall join in your revels, your sports, and your wiles. 

And return to me, beaming all o'er with your smiles ! — 

Too blest, if it tells me that, 'mid the gay cheer, 

Some kind voice had murmured, ^' I wisn he were here ! " 

Let fate do her worst ; there are relics of joy. 
Bright dreams of the past, which she can not destroy ; 
And which come, in the night-time of sorrow and care. 
To bring back the features that joy used to wear. 
Long, long be my heart with such memories filled ! — 
Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled — 
You may break, you may ruin, the vase, if you will, 
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. 

T. MOORE. 



LXXXV. — THE RUINS OF ROME. 

0, BoME ! my country ! city of the soul ! 

The orphans of the heart must turn to thee. 
Lone mother of dead empires ! and control 

In their shut breasts their petty misery. 

What are our woes and sufferance ? Come and see 
The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way 

O'er steps of broken thrones, and temples, ye, 
Whose agonies are evils of a day — 
A world is at our feet, as fragile as our clay. 

The Ni'o-be of nations ! there she stands 

Childless and crownless in her voiceless woe ; 

An empty urn within her withered hands. 
Whose holy dust was scattered long ago : 
The Scipios' tomb contains no ashes now ; 

The very sepulchers lie tenantless 

Of their heroic dwellers : dost thou flow. 

Old Tiber ! through a marble wilderness ? 
Bise, with thy yellow waves, and mantle her distress ! 

The Goth, the Christian, Time, War, Flood, and Fire, 
Have dealt upon the seven-hilled city's pride ; 

They saw her glories star by star expire, 
And, up the steep, barbarian monarchs ride 



392 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

Where the car climbed the capitol ; far and wide 
Temple and tower went down, nor left a site : — 

Chaos of ruins ! who shall trace the void ? 
O'er the dim fragments cast a lunar light, 
And saj, " here was, or is," where ail is doubly night? 

Alas ! the lofty city ! and alas ! 

The trebly hundred triumphs ! and the day 
When Brutus made the dagger's edge surpass 

The conqueror's sword in bearing fame away ! 

Alas, for Tully's ^ voice, and Virgil's lay, 
And Livy's pictured page ! — but these shall be 

Her resurrection ; all beside — decay. 
Alas, for Earth, for never shall we see 
That brightness in her eye she bore when Rome was free ! 

BYRON. 



LXXXVL — TASSO'S CORONATION.! 

FOR TWO SPEAKERS. 

The tone of the First is loud, animated, and exultant ; that of the Second, 

mournful and measured. 

riRST SPEAKER. 

A trumpet's note is in the sky, in the glorious Roman sky, 
Whose dome hath rung, so many an age, to the voice of victory ; 
There is crowding to the capitol, the imperial streets along, 
For again a conqueror must be crowned, — a kingly child of song ! 

SECOND SPEAKER. 

Yet his chariot lingers, 
Yet around his home 
Broods a shadow silently, 
'Midst the joy of Eome. 

FIRST SPEAKER. 

A thousand thousand laurel-boughs are waving wide and far, 

To shed out their triumphal gleams around his rolling car ; 

A thousand haunts of olden gods have given their wealth of 

flowers. 
To scatter o'er his path of fame bright hues in gem-like showers. 

* Cicero, whose first names were Marcus Tullius, is thus sometimes called 
in English. 

t Tasso died at Rome (1595) on tho day before that appointed for his coro- 
nation in the capitol. 



TASSO S CORONATION. 393 

SECOND SPEAKER. 

Peace ! within his chamber 

Low the mighty lies ; 

With a cloud of dreams on his noble brow, 

And a wandering in his eyes. 

FIRST SPEAKER. 

Sing, sing for him, the lord of song, for him, whose rushing strain 
In mastery o'er the spirit sweeps, like a strong wind o'er the 

main ! 
Whose voice lives deep in burning hearts, for ever there to dwell, 
As full-toned oracles are shrined in a temple's holiest cell. 

SECOND SPEAKER. 

Yes ! for him, the victor, 
Sing, — but low, sing low ! 
A soft, sad mis-e-re're chant 
For a soul about to go ! 

FIRST SPEAKER. 

The sun, the sun of Italy is pouring o'er his way. 

Where the old three hundred triumphs moved, a flood of golden 

day; 
Streaming through every haughty arch of the Caesar's past 

renown : 
Bring forth, in that exulting light, the conqueror for his croAvn ! 

SECOND SPEAKER. 

Shut the proud bright sunshine 
From the fading sight ! 
There needs no ray by the bed of death, 
Save the holy taper's light. 

FIRST SPEAKER. 

The wreath is twined, the way is strown, the lordly train are 

met. 
The streets are hung with coronals — why stays the minstrel yet ? 
Shout ! as an army shouts in joy around a royal chief — 
Bring forth the bard of chivalry, the bard of love and grief ! 

SECOND SPEAKER. 

Silence ! forth we bring him, 

In his last array ; 

From love and o-rief the freed, the flown — 

Way for the bier — make way ! 

MRS. HEMANS. 



394 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

LXXXVIL— -THE WAR-SONG OF DIN AS VAUR. 

The mountain sheep are sweeter, 

But the valley sheep are fatter ; 
We therefore deemed it meeter 

To carry off the latter ! 
We made an expedition ; 

We met a host, and quelled it ; 
We forced a strong position, 

And killed the men who held it. 

On Dyfed's richest valley. 

Where herds of kine were browsing, 
We made a mighty sally 

To furnish our carousing. 
Fierce warriors rushed to meet us ; 

We met them and o'erthrew them ; 
They struggled hard to beat us, 

But we conquered them and slew them. 

As we drove our prize at leisure. 

The king marched out to catch us — 
His rage surpassed all measure. 

But his people could not match us. 
He fled to his hall-pillars. 

And e'er our force we led off, 
Some sacked his house and cellars, 

While others cut his head off. 

We there in strife bewildering 

Spilt blood enough to swim in ; 
We orphaned many children, 

And widowed many women. 
The eagles and the ravens 

We glutted with our foemen ; 
The heroes and the cravens. 

The spearmen and the bowmen. 

We brought away from battle — 

And much the land bemoaned them — 
Three thousand head of cattle, 

And the head of him who owned them : — 
Ednyfed, King of Dyfed, — 

His head was borne before us. 
His wine and beasts supplied our feasts ; 

His overthrow, our chorus. anon. 



THE BRIDAL OF MALAHIDE. 395 

LXXXVIII. — THE BRIDAL OF MALAHIDE. 

The joy -bells are ringing in gay Malahide, 

The fresh wind is singing along the sea-side ; 

The maids are assembling with garlands of flowers, 

And the harp-strings are trembling in all the glad bowers. 

Swell, swell the gay measure ! roll trumpet and drum ! 
'Mid greetings of pleasure in splendor they come ! 
The chancel is ready, the portal stands wide, 
For the lord and the lady, the bridegroom and bride. 

Before the high altar young Maud stands arrayed ! 
With accents that falter her promise is made — 
From father and mother for ever to part. 
For him and no other to treasure her heart. 

The words are repeated, the bridal is done. 
The rite is completed — the two, they are one; 
The vow, it is spoken all pure from the heart, 
That must not be broken till life shall depart. 

Hark ! 'mid the gay clangor that compassed their car,^ 
Loud accents in anger come mingling afar ! 
The foe 's on the border ! his weapons resound 
Where the lines in disorder unguarded are found ! 

As wakes the good shepherd, the watchful and bold, 
When the ounce or the leopard is seen in the fold. 
So rises already the chief in his mail. 
While the new-married lady looks fainting and pale. 

" Son, husband, and brother, arise to the strife. 
For sister and mother, for children and wife ! 
O'er hill and o'er hollow, o'er mountain and plain, 
Up, true men, and follow ! let dastards remain ! " 

Farrah ! to the battle ! — They form into line — 

The shields, how they rattle ! the spears, how they shine ! 

Soon, soon shall the foeman his treachery rue — 

On, burgher and yeoman ! to die or to do ! 

The eve is declining in lone Malahide : 

The maidens are twining gay wreaths for the bride ; 

* At the fifth stanza the speaker's delivery should become louder and more 
rapid. The young chieftain's summons (seventh stanza) should be loud, bold, 
and stirring. There is opportunity for several effective changes of intonation 
in this piece. 



896 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

She marks them unheeding — her heart is afar, 
Where the clansmen are bleeding for her in the war. 

o 

Hark ! loud from the mountain — 't is victory's cry ! 
O'er woodland and fountain it rings to the sky ! 
The foe has retreated ! he flees to the shore ; 
The spoiler 's defeated — the combat is o'er ! 

With foreheads unruffled the conquerors come — 
Eut why have they muffled the lance and the drum ? 
What form do they carry aloft on his shield ? 
And where does he tarry, the lord of the field ? 

Ye saw him at morning, how gallant and gay ! 
In bridal adorning, the star of the day : 
Now, weep for the lover ■ — his triumph is sped. 
His hope it is over ! the chieftain is dead ! 

But, ! for the maiden who mourns for that chief. 
With heart overladen, and broken with grief! 
She sinks on the meadow : — in one' morning-tide, 
A wife and a widow, a maid and a bride ! 

Ye maidens attending, forbear to condole ! 
Your comfort is rending the depths of her soul. 
True — true, 't was a story for ages of pride ; 
He died in his glory — but, 0, he has died ! 

GERALD GRIFFIN {altered). 



LXXXIX. — THE SUITOR DISENCHANTED. 

"0, Laura ! will nothing I bring thee 

E'er soften those looks of disdain ? 
Are the songs of affection I sing thee 

All doomed to be sung thee in vain ? 
I offer thee love the sincerest, 

The warmest, ere glowed upon earth ; 
O ! smile on thy votary, dearest ! 

! crush not his hope in its birth ! " 

But the maiden, a haughty look flinging. 
Said, " Cease my compassion to move ; 

For I 'm not very partial to singing ; 

And they 're poor whose sole treasure is love ! " 



FREEDOM FOR EUROPE. 397 

'* My name will be sounded in story ; 

1 offer thee, dearest, my name : 
I have fought in the proud field of glory ; 

O, Laura, come share in my fame ! 
I bring thee a soul that adores thee, 

And loves thee wherever thou art, 
Which thrills as its tribute it pours thee 

Of tenderness fresh from the heart." 

But the maiden said, " Cease to impor'tune ; ^ 

Give Cupid the use of his wings ; 
Ah ! fame 's but a pitiful fortune — 

And hearts are such valueless things ! " 

"0, Laura, forgive if I Ve spoken 

Too boldly — nay, turn not away — 
For my heart with affliction is broken — - 

My uncle — died only to-day ! 
My uncle, the nabob — who tended 

My youth — with afifectionate — care, — 
My manhood — who kindly — befriended, — 

Has — died — and — has left me — his heir ! " 

And the maiden said, " Weep not, sincerest ! 
My heart has been yours all along; 

I hearts are of treasures the dearest — 
Do, Edward, go on with your song ! " 

But Edward said, " Here my song endeth, 

And here shall my passion end, too ; 
If ever my heart again bendeth, 

It shall bend to another than you. 

1 Ve long had an old-fashioned notion 

To be loved for myself, — do not sigh ! — 
Since gold wakes thy fondest emotion. 

Fair Laura, excuse me — good-by ! " anon. 



XC — FREEDOM FOR EUROPE. 

Can tyrants but by tyrants conquered be. 
And Freedom find no champion and no child 

Such as Columbia saw arise when she 

Sprang forth a Pallas, armed and undefiled ? 

* To preserve the metrical harmony and the rhyme of the verse, the accent 
in this word must be here put on the second syllable ; but the proper pro- 
nunciation is im-por-tune' . 

34 



398 LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE PIECES. 

Or must such minds be nourished in the wild, 
Deep in the unpruned forest, 'midst the roar 

Of cataracts, where nursing Nature smiled 
On infant Washington ? Has earth no more 
Such seeds within her breast, or Europe no such shore ? 

But France got drunk with blood to vomit crime ; 

And fatal have her saturnalia been 
To Freedom^s cause, in every age and clime, — 

Because the deadly days which we have seen, 

And vile Ambition, that built up between 
Man and his hopes an adamantine wall. 

And the base pageant, last upon the scene, — 
Are grown the pre'text for the eternal thrall 
Which nips life's tree, and dooms man's worst — his second fail ! 

Yet, Freedom ! yet thy banner, torn, but flying, 

Streams like the thunder-storm against the wind ; 
Thy trumpet voice, though broken now and dying, 

The loudest still the tempest leaves behind ! 

Thy tree hath lost its blossoms, and the rind, 
Chopped by the ax, looks rough and little worth, 

But the sap lasts, — and still the seed we find 
Sown deep even in the bosom of the North ; 
So shall a better spring less bitter fruit bring forth ! 

BYRON. 



XCL— -TOO LATE I STAYED. 

Too late I stayed — forgive the crime ; 

Unheeded flew the hours ; — 
How noiseless fails the foot of Time 

That only treads on flowers I 

What eye with clear account remarks 

The ebbing of his glass. 
When all its sands are diamond sparks, 

That dazzle as they pass ? 

Ah ! who to sober measurement 

Time's happy swiftness brings, 
When birds of Paradise have lent 

Their plumage for his wings ? 

W. R. SPENCER. 



PART ELEVENTH. — DEBATES, 



I. —ARE THE MENTAL CAPACITIES OF THE SEXES EQUAL? 

The following debate is arranged for seventeen speakers, including the Chair- 
man. There should be seats for all those who are to take part in tlio 
debate, the Chairman being distinguished from the rest by being more ele- 
vated in his position, and having a table or desk before him. Should there 
not be room on the stage for all the debaters, some can sit grouped on the 
floor adjoining. Every speaker as he rises should ivy to catch the eye of 
the Chairman, and the latter should check every tendency to confusion by 
rapping on the table, and calling gentlemen to order. To give an air of 
spontaneousness to the debate, several speakers may at times rise at once, 
crying "■ Mr. Chairman." The Chairman should bo courteous and attentive 
to all, but prompt in his decisions, and energetic in maintaining them. 
Occasional applause, or indications of dissent, are allowable. In English 
assemblies for discussion, the cry of '^ hear! heart ''^ is often uttered; some- 
times ironically, and sometimes in token of approbation and encourage- 
ment. At similar assemblies in the United States this custom is not 
general. 

The Chair moM, Grentlemen, — I feel very iiiglily the honor 
you haye done me by placing me in the chair. I will not waste 
your time, however, by inflicting a speech upon you, but will pro- 
ceed at once to the proper business of the meeting. The ques- 
tion we are to discuss is as follows {Reads fr 0771 a roll of pa'per) : 
" Are the mental capacities of the sexes equal ? " I beg to call 
upon the Opener to commence the debate. I have only to add 
that I hope the discussion will be carried on in a manner befitting 
the importance and gravity of the subject. [The Chairman 
resumes his seat amid applause, and the Opener rises.) 

The Opener. Sir, in rising to open the question which has 
been put from the chair, I assure you that I feel the need of 
much indulgence, and I hope that I shall not be denied it. I 
expect no small amount of reproach and con tu-mely for the part 
I mean to take in this debate ; for I know the gallantry of many 
of my friends around me, and I fully make up my mind to smart 
under the weight of it. However, I will meet my fate boldly, 
at all events ; I will declare, at once, that I am a believer in the 
mental inferiority of the ladies. (0 ! ! met hy cries of hear ! 
hear !) And, if my clamorous friends will let me, I will endeavor 
to prove that I am right. I will take my proofs from history. 
Which shines the brighter, the male sex or the female ? Look 
among sovereigns — Vf here is the female Caesar ? — the female 
Alfred ?— the female Alexander ? — the female Napoleon ? Or 

399 



400 DEBATES, 

take legislators — What woman have we to compare with Solon 
or Lycurgus ? with Washington or Hamilton ? Or take the glo- 
rious Jist of orators. Can you point to a female Demos' the-nes, 
or Mirabeau, or Chatham, or Patrick Henry, or Webster ? No, 
sir ! The ladies may have the gift of the — I beg pardon — 
the gift of loquacity, but not of eloquence. Where are the 
female philosophers, moreover ? Where is their Soc'ra-tes, their 
Plato, their Newton, their Jonathan Edwards ? Where is their 
great discoverer- — their Columbus, their Franklin, their Herschel, 
their Daguerre ? Where their great inventor — their Fulton, 
theif Morse, their Whitney ? In literature, too, are the great 
names those of the fairer, or the sterner sex ? Homer, Shaks- 
peare, Milton, Wordsworth, Campbell, Irving, — what lady- 
writers equal these ? (Hear ! hear !) 

I shall not enter into the philosophical part of the question at 
aH. Facts are the strongest arguments, and these I have pro- 
duced. Besides, I dare say that some of my supporters will 
choose that view of the matter, and into their hands I am quite 
willing to resign it. 

I feel that I should weaken my cause were I to say more. I 
therefore commit the question to your fair and full discussion, 
quite convinced that a just conclusion will at length be arrived 
at. [Applause.) 

Second Speaker. Sir, my friend, who has just resumed his 
seat, has regarded this question as it is answered by history : I 
will view it by the light of reason and philosophy. I think, then, 
that women were meant to be inferior to men. The female of 
every kind of animal is weaker than the male, and why should a 
distinction be made with the human species ? (Hear !) 

The sphere which the female is called upon to fill is the domes- 
tic one. To rule and to command is the sphere of man. He 
is here to govern and to guide. Now, the exercise of authority 
requires greater mental power than the duties of the other sex 
demand ; and I think that man would not have been called upon 
to rule, had not greater power been conferred upon him. Where 
would be the unutterable delight that now dwells in the magic 
word '^ Home," if woman were more intellectually subtle than 
she is ? All these true joys v/ould be lost to us ; and woman, 
instead of earning our gratitude and affection by creating them, 
would be studying metaphysics, diving into theology, or searching 
out new stars. It seems to me that the very happiness of the 
world depends upon the inequalities and differences existing in 
the minds of the sexes, and therefore I shall vote with my friend 
the Opener. [Applause.) 



MENTAL CAPACITIES OF THE fc^EXES. 40l 

Third Speaker, Sir, I rise to defend the ladies. [Applause.) 
I admit the ability of my two friends who have preceded me ; 
but I dispute their arguments, and I utterly deny their conclu- 
sions. I shall deal with the Opener only, and leave the other 
gentleman to the tender mercies of succeeding speakers. 

Our friend referred us to history ; very unfortunately, I think. 
He spoke of rulers. Yf here is the female Caesar ? said he, and 
the female Alexander ? I am proud to reply — Nowhere. No, 
sir ; the fair sex can claim no such murderers, no such usurpers, 
no such enemies of mankind. But I will tell my friend what 
the fair sex can boast : it can boast an Elizabeth, and also a Vic- 
toria. [Loud applause.) While the ladies can claim such rulers 
as these, their male detractors may keep their Ceesars and Alex- 
anders to themselves ; and I, for one, shall never reclaim them 
from their keeping. [Applause.) I had more to say, sir, but I 
feel that other speakers would occupy your time more profitably, 
and so I will resume my seat. 

Fourth Speaker, Sir, the speaker who has just sat down was 
scarcely justified in calling his opponents " detractors of the 
ladies ; " such an epithet is scarcely fair, and he would prove his 
point better, by using more moderate language. (Hear ! hear !) 
He has spoken of Elizabeth and Victoria, and I agree in his 
admiration of at least the latter of those distinguished charac- 
ters ; but I would just remind him that history speaks of a 
Bloody Mary as well as an Elizabeth — (hear, hear) — of a Cleo- 
patra as well as a Victoria. I am not determined, sir, upon 
which side I shall vote. I wait to be convinced ; and I assure 
my friends on both sides, that I am quite open to conviction. 
(Hear ! hear !) 

Fifth Speaker. Then I, sir, will try to convince my friend. 
I will try to convince him that he should adopt the cause of the 
ladies. The fair sex have not yet had justice done them. What 
is the argument employed to prove their inferiority ? Simply 
this — that they are not such strong rulers, such learned law-giv- 
ers, or such great poets. But suppose I grant this ; the sexes 
may be mentally equal, notwithstanding. For, if I can show 
that the female sex possess qualities which the male sex do not, — 
qualities which, though widely different from those named, are 
quite as valuable to the world, — I establish an argument in their 
favor quite as strong as that against them. (Hear ! hear I) 
And I can prove this. In affection, in constancy, in patience, in 
purity of sentiment, and in piety of life, they as far surpass men 
as men surpass them in mere bodily strength. [Applause.) And 
what qualities are superior to these ? Is strength of intellect 
34# 



402 DEBATES. 

superior to strength, of heart? Is the ability to make laws 
superior to the power that wins and keeps affection ? Is a facility 
in making rhymes superior to sisterly love and maternal solici- 
tude ? I think, sir, that it is unwise and unfair to judge between 
the two. The spheres of the sexes are different, and require 
different powers ; but, though different in degree, they may be, 
and I believe they are, fally equal in amount. (Loud applause.) 

Sixth Speaker, Mr. Chairman, my speech shall consist of one 
question. Woman's brain is smaller than man's : now, if, as 
philosophers tell us, the size of the brain is the evidence of intel- 
lectual power, is not woman's intellect necessarily inferior tj 
man's ? (Hear ! hear ! and laughter,) 

Seventh Speaker, Sir, mxy friend who has just sat down gave 
his speech in a question : I will give him another in reply. 
(Hear ! hear !) If the size of the brain is the proof of intel- 
lectual power, how is it that the calf is more stupid than the 
dog ? [Laughter and applause.) 

Eighth Speaker, Mr. Chairman, the last speaker's happy reply 
has saved me the necessity of answering the sagacious question 
of the gentleman who spoke before him. My friend, the opener 
of the debate, said, rather plausibly, that as the male sex can 
boast a Shakspeare, a Milton, and a Byron, and the other sex 
can not, therefore the male sex m.ust be superior. It is but a 
poor argument, sir, when plainly looked at. We should recol- 
lect that there is but one Shakspeare, but one Milton, but one 
Eyron. Who can say that the female sex may not some day 
surpass these writers, famous though they be ? 

Another gentleman spoke of philosophers. Let me remind 
khn — for he seems to have forgotten, or not to know — that the 
female sex can produce a De Stael and a Somerville. Not that 
I would claim for the ladies, for one moment, any merit on this 
ground. I think that scientific and literary excellence is by no 
means the choicest laurel for their gathering. Learning does not 
sit so gracefully on the female as on the masculine brow : — a 
blue-stooking is proverbially disagreeable. We can tolerate the 
spectacle of a Newton or a Locke so immersed in study that he 
plays the sloven ; but the sight of a female — a lady — so 

abstracted as to play the {Cries of Order ! order !) I say, 

sir, the sight of a lady so abstracted as to forget that her hair is 
in papers, her dress untidy, or her fingers inky, is simply repul- 
sive. No amount of beauty will reconcile us to the absence of 
the feminine attribute of neatness. Woman's office, sir, is to 
teach the heart, not the mind ; and when she strives for intellect- 
ual superiority, she quits n higher throne than ever she can win. 
{Applause.) 



MENTAL CAPACITIES OF THE SEXES. 403 

"Ninth Speaker. Sir, the gentleman who called this a question 
of differe7ice^ not ainoitiit of intellect, put the question, to my 
thinking, in its proper light. I quite agree with the opener of 
the debate, that in mere mental power, in mere clearness, force, 
and intensity of intellect, the male sex is unquestionably superior 
to the female. But, at the same time, I can by no means admit 
that this proves woman to be inferior to the other sex. Much of 
what man has done results from his superior physical strength ; 
and, moreover, if man has done great things visibly and mentally, 
woman has accomplished great things morally and silently. In 
every stage of society she has kept alive the conscience, refined 
the manners, and improved the taste ; in barbarism and in civil- 
ization alike, she has gladdened the homes and purified the hearts 
of those she has gathered round her. Whilst, therefore, I admit 
that in mental strength woman is not, and can never be, equal to 
the other sex, I maintain that her superior morality makes the 
balance at least even. [Applause.) 

Tenth Speaker. I am quite ready to concede, sir, with the 
last speaker, that in the private and domestic virtues the female 
sex is superior to the male : but I can not go so far with him as to 
say that man is morally woman's inferior. (Hear ! hear !) For 
which are the highest moral virtues ? Courage, fortitude, endur- 
ance, perseverance ; and these, I think, man possesses far more 
prominently than woman. Let the field of battle test his cour- 
age : with what heroic boldness he faces certain death ! His 
fortitude again : what shocks he bears, what bereavements he 
patiently sustains ! Mark his endurance, too. Privation, hun- 
ger, cold, galling servitude, heavy labor, these he suffers often- 
times without a murmur. See also how he perseveres ! He sets 
some plan before him. Days, months, years, find it still distant, 
still unwon : he continues his exertions, and at last he gains the 
prize. These, sir, I contend, are amongst the highest moral virtues, 
and I think I have shown that the male sex possesses them more 
abundantly than the other. [Ajyplause.) 

Eleventh Speaker. Sir, I quite agree with the gentleman who 
spoke last, that courage, endurance, and fortitude, are amongst 
the highest moral virtues ; but I do not agree with him when he 
says that the female sex possesses them in an inferior degree to 
the male. True, man shows his courage in the battle-field. He 
faces death, and meets it unshrinkingly. But has not woman cour- 
age quite as great ? She fights battles, — not a few : oftentimes 
with want, starvation, and ruin : and bravely indeed does she main- 
tain her ground. Far more bravely than the man, in fact. The 
first shock overcomes him at once : when attacked by distress, he is 



404 DEBATES. 

in a moment laid prostrate. Then it is, sir, that woman's moral 
courage, endurance, and fortitude, shine out the most. She sus- 
tains, she cheers, she encourages, she soothes the other ; nerves 
him by her example, invigorates him by her tenderness, and 
directs him by gentle counsel and affectionate encouragement, to 
put his shoulder to the wheel of his broken fortune, and restore 
himself to the position he has lost. 

** 0, "woman ! in our hours of ease, 
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please. 



When pain and anguish wring the brow, 
A ministering angel, thou! " 

Sir, gentlemen have boasted of their Alexanders and their 
Napoleons ; but I can point them to a spectacle which sends a 
warmer thrill to the heart than the contemplation of Alexander 
crossing the Grran icus, or of Napoleon heading the impetuous 
onset across the bridge of Lodi. I behold a woman quitting the 
comforts of an affluent home in England, and standing by the 
bedside of wounded and plague-stricken soldiers in the hospitals 
of Constantinople. Sir, if that was not courage, it was some- 
thing nobler, braver, more divine ; and the name of Florence 
Nightingale — (interruption of loud applause) — the name of 
Florence Nightingale, I say, sir, is to my mind crowned with a 
halo more luminous and admirable than any false glare that sur- 
rounds the fame of any conqueror or man-slaj^er that ever spread 
desolation through a land. 

Sir, let me quote one other instance. When that illustrious 
French woman and true friend of liberty, Madam Ko-land', in 
the bloody times of the French Eevolution, for the crime of 
holding adverse political opinions, was dragged to the scaffold 
by — (Heaven save the mark !) — by men — alas, sir ! vie7i — she, 
a pure, heroic, lovely, and innocent woman — there sat by her 
side in the victims' cart a man, a stranger, also a prisoner, and, 
like her, on his way to the guillotine. But, sir, the man wept 
bitterly with anguish and dismay ; while the woman was calm, 
composed, intrepid. She devoted her last moments to cheering 
and comforting her male companion. She even made him smile. 
She seemed to forget her own great wrongs and sufferings in 
encouraging him. She saw his head fail under the guillotine, and 
then, stepping lightly up to the scaffold, she uttered those immortal 
words addressed to the statue of Liberty — '^ ! Liberty, what 
crimes are committed in thy name ! " — and told the executioner 
(the man, sir !) to do his duty. The next moment the fair head 
of this young, fearless, and highly-gifted woman was severed 



MENTAL CAPACITIES OF THE SEXES. 405 

from the body, and men stood by to applaud the infernal act. Sir, 
let us hear no more, after this, of woman's inferiority to man in 
fortitude, courage, endurance, and all that ennobles humanity. 
[Ajyplause,) 

Twelfth Speaker, Mr. Chairman, I can not help thinking 
that some of the last speakers have wandered a little from the 
true subject before us. The question was "Arc the Mental 
Capacities of the Sexes equal ? " and the speakers are now hotly 
discussing whether the sexes are morally equal, with which point 
I submit we have nothing to do. To bring back the discussion, 
therefore, to its proper track, I beg to repeat that which has been 
yet unanswered, namely. That as the male sex have produced the 
more remarkable evidences of mental power, the palm of mental 
superiority is evidently theirs. (Hear ! hear !) Much has been 
said during this debate, but no one has disproved this assertion, 
or denied the deduction from it : till cause is shown, therefore, 
why the verdict should not be in favor of the male sex, I submit 
that we have the right to demand it. (Applause,) 

Thirteenth Speaker, Sir, the last speaker has, in a taunting 
manner, challenged us to deny his assertion, and to disprove his 
argument. I will do both — at least, attempt to do so — and I 
trust I shall succeed in convincing my bold friend that he has 
not quite so good a cause as he thinks. [Applause,) In the first 
place, sir, I will not admit that mental superiority does not 
involve moral. It is my conviction that it does, I maintain 
it, sir, there is something wanting in the intellectual mechanism 
of that man who, while he can write brilliant poetry, or discourse 
eloquently on philosophical subjects, is morally deficient and 
unsound. 

But, I will not admit that the female sex is outdone by the 
male* True, the one sex has produced a Shakspeare, a Milton, 
and a Byron ; but the other has a Sappho, a Barbauld, a Hemans, 
and a Sigourney. I will net, however, pursue the intellectual 
comparison, for it would be an endless one. [Applause.) But 
suppose I were to grant what the last speaker claimed, namely, 
that the female sex has achieved less than the male — what then ? 
I can show that woman's education has been neglected : if, then, 
woman has not possessed the advantages conferred upon the other 
sex, how can you say that she is not naturally man's equal? Till 
this is answered, nothing has been proved. [Applause^ 

Sir, as bearing upon this subject, and eloquently embodying 
my own views, let me quote, if my memory will allow me, a little 
poem by Ebenezer Elliott : 



406 DEBATES. 

" What highest prize hath -woinan won in science or in art ? 
What mightiest work, by woman done, boasts city, field, or mart? 
'She hath no Kaphael ! ' Painting saith; ' No Newton ! ' Learning cries; 
' Show us her Steamship ! her Macbeth ! her thought-won victories ! * 

" Wait, boastful man ! though worthy are thy deeds, when thou art true, 
Things worthier still, and holier far, our sister yet will do; 
For this the worth of woman shows, on every peopled shore, — 
That still as man in wisdom grows, he honors her the more. 

" ! not for wealth, or fame, or power, hath man's meek angel striven, 
But, silent as the growing flower, to make of earth a heaven ! 
And in her garden of the sun heaven's brightest rose shall bloom; 
For woman's best is unbegun I her advent yet to come ! " 

Fourteenth Speake7\ Sir, I tliink that an answer may very 
easily be given to the objections raised by the last speaker. 
Grreat stress has been laid upon the fact that education has not 
been extended to woman, and therefore, it is said, she is not equal 
to man. They^c^, then, of her inferiority is admitted; and now 
let us look at the excuse. I think it a very shallow one, sir. 
Was Shakspeare educated? Was Burns educated ? Was James 
Watt educated? Was Benjamin Franklin educated? Was 
Henry Clay educated ? No ! They achieved their greatness in 
spite of the disadvantages of their position; and this, sir, genius 
will always do. Nothing can keep it down ; it is superior to all 
human obstacles, and will mount. It is for want of genius, 
therefore, not for want of education, that woman has remained 
behind in the mental race. [Applause,) 

Fifteenth Speaker, Mr. Chairman, in spite of the learned 
and eloquent speeches of the ladies' champions, I am still inclined 
to vote with the Opener. I think my conclusion rests on good 
authority. We find, from Scripture history, that man was cre- 
ated first, and that woman was formed from a part of man — from 
a rib, in fact. Now, I would humbly submit, that as man wns 
first formed, he was intended to be superior to woman ; and that 
woman, being made from a part of man only, can not be looked 
upon as his equal. We find, too, in Scripture, that woman is 
constantly told to obey man ; and I contend that this would not 
be the case, were she not inferior. [Applause,) 

Besides, sir, as it has been ably argTied, her duties do not 
require such great intellect as man's. Now, nature never gives 
unnecessary strength ; and as woman is not called upon to use 
great mental power, we may be sure she does not possess it. 

Sixteenth Speaker, Sir, it seems to me that the remarks of 
the last speaker may be easily shown to be most inconclusive and 
inconsistent. In the first place : he says, that as Adam was 



MENTAL CAPACITIES OF THE SEXES, 407 

created before Eve, Adam was intended to be superior. I think, 
sir, that this argument is singularly unhappy. Why, we read 
that the birds, beasts, and fishes, were created before Adam ; and, 
if my friend's logic were sound, Adam must have been inferior to 
the said birds, beasts, and fishes, in consequence : an argument, 
as I take it, not quite supported by fact. {Laughter and applause,) 
Sir, so far as we can judge, the most important creatures seem 
to have been formed last, and therefore Eve must, according to 
that^ be not inferior, but superior, to Adam. Then, as to the 
argument about the rib. Why, what was Adam formed out of? 
The dust of the earth, Now, it seems to me that a living rib is 
a much more dignified thing to be made out of than the lifeless 
dust of the ground : and if so, my friend's argument turns against 
himself rather than against the ladies. 

I heard the gentleman say, too — and I confess I heard it with 
some impatience — that woman's sphere does not require so much 
intellect as man's. Where he got such an argument, I can not 
imagine ; and I think it by no means creditable either to his 
taste or to his discernment. Who has to rear the infant mind ? 
to tend and instruct the growing child ? to teach it truth, and 
goodness, and piety ? Not impetuous, impatient man, but endur- 
ing, gentle, and considerate woman. Y/^hat more important or 
more difficult task could mortal undertake? It requires the 
noblest intellect to teach a child, and that intellect being required 
in woman, I feel sure that she possesses it. Although, then, 
I own that there are great and inborn differences between the 
intellectual capacities of the sexes, I can not for an instant imag- 
ine that the one is, in the aggregate, at all inferior to the other. 
[Loud applause. — A pause ensues,) 

The Chairman rises and says : If no other gentleman is 
inclined to speak, I will put the question. 

Sixteenth Speaker. Perhaps our worthy Chairman would 
like to offer a few observations. 

(T'Ae Chairman then temporarily vacates the chair.) 

Chairman, Gentlemen, the subject has interested me so 
much, that I will act on my friend's suggestion, and venture upon 
a few remarks. I have reflected calmly and dispassionately upon 
the question before us, whilst I have been listening to the speeches 
made by my friends around me ; and although I own that I was 
at first inclined to vote in the affirmative of this question, I am 
not ashamed to say that my views have undergone a material 
alteration during the debate, and that I have now made up my 
mind to defend and vote for the ladies. {Applause,) 



408 DEBATES. 

In the first place, I think we are necessarily unfair judges: we 
are interested in the verdict, and therefore ought not to sit upon 
the judgment-seat. It gratifies our pride to think that we are 
superior to the other sex ; and reflection upon this point has 
convinced me, that upon the ground of good taste and modesty 
alone, we ought at once to give up the point, and admit woman's 
claims to be at least equal to our own. 

Heason also moves me to adopt the same conclusion. I con- 
cede, at once, that there are great differences between the capaci- 
ties of the sexes ; but not greater than between various races 
of our own sex. The roving savage is inferior to the studious 
philosopher. Why ? Because he has not been educated. So 
with woman. When you can show me that woman has received 
the same advantages as man, and has not then equaled him, why, 
then I will vote against her ; but Tiot till then. {Applause,) 

In conclusion, I would say, that as the Creator formed woman 
to be a help meet for maji, I can not believe that she was made 
inferior. She was given to him as a companion and friend, not 
as a slave and servant ; and I think that we are displaying great 
arrogance and presumption, as well as a contemptuous deprecia- 
tion of the Creator's best gifts, if we declare and decide that she 
who adorns and beautifies and delights our existence is inferior 
to ourselves in that intelligence which became a part of man's 
soul when God breathed into him the breath of life ! [Loud a?id 
continued applause.) 

( The Chairman resumes his seat, and then says, Will the opener of this debate have 

the goodness to reply ?) 

The Opener (in reply). Mr. Chairman, — You have called on 
me to reply. Now, I beg at once, and frankly, to say, that I, 
like you, have undergone conviction during this debate, and that 
I mean to vote against the proposition which a short time ago I 
recommended. [Loud cries of Hear! hear! and applause.) 

I was misled by appearances. I looked into history; but I 
did not examine it correctly. I looked at the surface only. I 
saw great deeds, and I saw that men had performed them ; but 
I did not estimate what had been done silently. I forgot to ask 
myself how much of the good these men wrought was owing to 
the wisdom and goodness taught to them in their infancy by their 
mothers. So with philosophy ; so with science. The glitter 
caught me, and I fear I lost the substance. [Applause.) 

I am not sorry, however, that I introduced the question. It 
has changed those who were wrong, it has confirmed those who 
were right, and it has caused all to think. Let me hope that all 
who spoke on my side of the question are, like their leader, con- 



ON THE ADMSSION OF LADIES. 409 

verted ; and let me, in conclusion, saj, tliat I trust we shall take 
to our hearts the truth we adopt ; and whilst we vote here that 
the mental capacity of the female sex is fully equal to our own, 
show, by our conduct toward that sex, that we feel their high 
value and dignity, and treat them in every respect as our lull 
equals and as our best friends. {Eiithusiastic applause.) 

The Chairman, Those who think that the Mental Capacities 
of the Sexes are equal will please to signify the same in the 
usual manner. {Loud cries of All ! All !) I am happy to see, 
gentlemen, that we are all of one way of thinking : there is no 
need for me to put the other side of the question. I do declare 
it, then, decided by this meeting, that the Mental Capacities of 
the Sexes are equal. 



11. _ CONGRESSIONAL DEBATE 

ON A RESOLUTION FOR THE ADMISSION OF LADIES TO THE FLOOR OF THE 
HOUSE DURING THE DEBATES. 

In the representation of the following mimic debate, there should be a rostrum 
or table for the Speaker, and the Clerk should sit a little in advance of him, 
while the supposed members of the House may be grouped around as in a 
legislative assembly. The Speaker should have a little mallet or hammer 
with which to rap in calling members to order. 

Opener. Mr. Speaker ! 

Speaker. The gentleman from Ohio. 

Opener. If it is in order, sir, I will now call up my resolu- 
tion on the clerk's desk. 

Speaker. The gentleman's resolution will be in order. 

Opener. The clerk will oblige me by reading the resolution. 

Clerk. ( Fusing and reading from a slip of paper. ) ' ' Eesolved . 
That from and after the date of the passage of this resolution, 
ladies be admitted to the floor of the House during the debates." 

Opener. Sir, I am very sure no arguments can be necessary to 
recommend this resolution to the adoption of this House. It 
speaks for itself. It addresses us as men ; it addresses us as 
gentlemen; it addresses us as citizens; andean not, therefore, 
address us in vain. 

The adoption of this resolution, while on the one hand it 
would pay a deserved compliment to the ladies, would, on the 
other, confer a most important benefit upon the House. For, to 
what, I ask, have those scenes of uproar, which have so often 
degi-aded and disgraced this House, been owing, but to the absence 
of that sex whose presence restraim, as much as it inspires ; 
35 



410 DEBATES. 

of that sex from whose presence all tumult flees — all tumult but 
that of the heart. 

Sir, it is true that ladies are now admitted, with the public 
generally, to the gallery ; but what a poor privilege is that, when 
the place of honor is here on this floor, before and behind the 
bar ! In that distant gallery their influence is lost. They can 
hardly see us, even with their opera-glasses ; and we are hardly 
aware of their presence. But, if they were here at our side, 
with the privilege of traversing this floor, of laying a hand on 
this member's shoulder when he was carried in the whirlwind 
of his passion beyond the bounds of decorum, of whispering in 
that member's ear when he needed rousing, who can doubt that 
the advantages to this House and this nation would be great 
beyond calculation ? 

For our own sakes, therefore, and for the sake of the coun- 
try, far more than for the sake of the ladies themselves, I trust 
that this resolution will be adopted. 

Second SpeoJcer, Mr. Speaker ! 

Speaker. The gentleman from Texas. 

Second Speaker, Mr. Speaker, I trust that this resolution will 
prevail. It appeals alike to our gallantry and to our interests, 
and I can not therefore doubt its success. And, sir, from its 
passage I anticipate a train of the happiest consequences — to 
the world philanthropically — to the country politically — to 
members of this House personally. Sir, I dare not trust my- 
self to enlarge upon any one of these points. They must be 
sufficiently obvious to every considerate mind. The only wonder 
is that the resolution was not long ago adopted. Let it be the 
happy privilege of this Congress, sir, to establish the precedent, 
and give to other legislative assemblies an example which shall 
redound to oiir own honor as much as it will to the profit of the 
republic. 

[Several gentle me7i rise and cry, Mr. Speaker I Mr. Speaker ! 
Mr. Speaker ! The Speaker raps,) 

Speaker. The gentleman from Arkansas has the floor. 

Third Speaker. Sir, before this question is put to the House, 
I shall be pardoned the expression of my surprise at its novel 
and strange nature. The honorable gentlemen have not given 
one reason, between them^ to show that it is worthy your adop- 
tion. I do not blame them for this ; I well know that it was 
impossible, I do not wish to take a position at all adverse to 
the ladies ; I think them all very well in their places ; but I con- 
fess I am astonished that my friends are so little aware of the 
power of one Goddess of Discord, that they are here introducing 



ON THE ADMISSION OF LADIES. 411 

fifty ; — fifty, did I say, sir ? — it may be hundreds. Sir, I shall 
give my decided opposition to the motion. 

Fourth Speaker. Mr. Speaker ! 

Speaker. The gentleman from Connecticut. 

Fourth Speaker. Mr. Speaker, I really am at a loss to con- 
ceive — when there are already so many old women in the 
House — what objection there can possibly be to the introduc- 
tion of a few young ones. {General laughter.) 

Consider, I beseech you, the influence they would exert ! — 
first, upon the language of our orators, — the grace they would 
inspire ! how efi'ectually they would banish all rudeness and 
offensive personality ! What expressions would be suffered to 
pass a gentleman's lips unfit to enter a lady's ear ? And, if the 
effect should be the extinction of a set of noisy orators, whose 
whole resources of language would be thus cut off, I am sure, 
neither this House nor the country would be a loser by it. 

Then, as to the deportment of members. We should not then 
see — you, sir, with that eye which must be peculiarly disgusted 
with the unbecoming — [the Speaker hows) — would not then see 
members in all the varieties of posture of which we can conceive, 
or rather can nnt conceive ; — some reclining at full length, — 
others with heels more elevated than their heads, literally as well 
as figuratively ; nor would our ears be assaulted by ail the sounds 
incident and proper to a menagerie ; nor by the still more inar- 
ticulate sounds, which tell of members sleeping over a nation's 
interests. The ladies enter ! Observe how hushed every un- 
gentler sound ! How decent the postures ! How watchful the 
attention ! How nianly the air ! Then, again, anticipate their 
influence upon our deliberations ! What encouragement to vir- 
tuous and pacific policy ! What man would venture to invade 
the constitation of a country, under the very eyes of those who 
are its brightest ornaments and its dearest pledges ? What man 
would lightly counsel war in sight of that sex which war finds 
the most helpless and leaves the most suffering? I "pause for 
a reply ! " 

Fzfth Speaker. Mr. Speaker ! 

Speaker. The gentleman from New York. 

Fifth Speaker. The honorable gentleman shall not pause long 
for a reply. Nothing, it will be admitted on all hands, would 
conduce more to the dignity of our proceedings than that they 
should sometimes be conducted with a little more attention to 
order. The honorable member has alluded to the disorderly con- 
duct of the opposition. I will tell the honorable member, — and 
I beg the honorable member will mark what I say particularly, — 



412 DEBATES. 

if there is one man more than another in this House, who more 
frequently tramples under foot all the rules of order, violates all 
decency, and whose whole public conduct is as disgraceful to 
himself as it is detrimental to the country, the honorable gen- 
tleman is that man. 

[Several members rise at -once and cry Order ! order ! Shame ! 
shame ! etc. The Speaker raps^ and cries, Grentlemen will 
please come to order ! The Fourth Speaker shakes his fist at 
the Fifth Speaker, and tries to get at him, hut is held hack hy 
gentlemen.) 

Fifth Speaker. I beg that members Avill not detain the gentle- 
man. I am quite prepared for any thing he may have to say or 
do. Let him come on ! 

(Cries of Shame ! shame ! Order ! order !) 

Fourth Speaker, The personalities of the gentleman must be 
answered elsewhere than in this House, and by other weapons 
than 

Fifth Speaker, [Interrupting him.) 0, certainly, in anyway 
you please. I shall be pleased to accommodate the gentleman. 

Speaker. Order ! The gentleman from Iowa has the floor. 

Sixth Speaker, I rise to order, sir ; and demand why such 
offensive remarks as those indulged in by the gentleman from 
New York were not checked at the outset. I put it to the 
Chair, ought any member to be allowed to proceed when he 
enters upon such a strain of personal vituperation ? 

Speaker, The Chair, sir, does not require any tutoring. 

Seventh Speaker, Mr. Speaker ! 

Speaker. The gentleman from Louisiana. • 

Seventh Speaker, Sir, I also rise to order ; I repudiate the 
remarks of the last speaker, and deny their justice. Why, I 
ask, is the honorable member from New York to be thus inter- 
rupted ? If any honorable member feels aggrieved, let him reply 
with such severity of speech as he may think appropriate ; but 
do not let him attempt to stifle discussion, and abridge the free- 
dom of debate in this House, by a paltry appeal to the Speaker. 

Sixth Speaker. Paltry ? Paltry appeal ? Did the gentle- 
man say a paltry appeal ? 

Seventh Speaker. I certainly did not say any thing else. 

Sixth Speaker, Then let me tell the gentleman 

Speaker. (Rises.) Order ! order ! Every member will take 
his seat. Gentlemen, we shall never get on with the important 
business before the House, if we are to be involved in this con- 
tinued mesh of personalities. Every gentleman who has spoken 
in haste and anger will at once see the necessity of retracting his 



ON THE ADMISSION OF LADIES. 413 

offensive expressions — expressions which, I am bound to say, 
are inconsistent with the rules of this House, and incompatible 
with the proper discharge of the public business. The gentle- 
man from New York began this war of words by a personal de- 
nunciation, which was not justified by any remark that had fallen 
from the gentleman from Connecticut. Will the gentleman facili- 
tate the disentangling of this knot by acknowledging his error ? 

Fifth Speaker, Sir, I bow cheerfully to the decision of the 
Chair. What I said was intended in a PickvAckian^ and not a 
personal sense. I spoke only of the public acts of the gentle- 
man ; for himself, personally, I cherish the highest respect ; and 
I by no means intended by the epithet " disgraceful " to wound his 
sensibilities, or to convey an offensive allusion. 

Fourth Speaker. Sir, I accept with pleasure the handsome 
amende which the gentleman has made. 

Speaker. The gentleman from Louisiana will, perhaps, follow 
a good example. 

Seventh Speaker. With pleasure, sir. In applying the epi- 
thet paltry. I did it in a hypothetical rather than in a personal 
spirit, and I did not intend any offense whatever to a gentleman, 
whom I regard as an honor to the State he represents. 

Sixth Speaker. I thank the gentleman, and regret any angry 
retort that I may have made, or may have intended to make. 

Eighth Speaker. Mr. Speaker ! 

Speaker. The gentleman from Yirginia. 

Eighth Speaker. Now, sir, that the tempest is stilled, and all 
is harmony once more, I would venture to inquire what assurance 
have we, after we have passed this resolution, that the ladies 
will avail themselves of the permission it extends to them. If 
the honorable mover of this resolution will prove that the seats 
we must prepare for the ladies will be filled, and well filled, I 
will venture to predict that his motion will be carried by accla- 
mation. But if, on the contrary, as there is too much reason 
to expect, no ladies, or only ladies about the age of sixty or 

seventy^ {Cries of Order! Shame! Order!) Keally, I do 

not understand how I am out of order — 

Speaker. The gentleman will take his seat. He ought to 
know that a lady's age, like the privileges of this House, is not 
to be questioned ; and I rejoice to find members so sensitive on 
this subject, and so prompt to vindicate the rights of the gentler 
sex. Such allusions can not be too strongly condemned. Dan- 
gerous consequences have resulted from them. There is said to 
be a glorious uncertainty in the law ; but it more truly pertains 
to a lady's acre. Ladies have been known to be " only eighteen " 
35^ 



414 DEBATES. 

for three years together. The phrase which the gentleman ought 
to have employed is, " ladies of a certain age," by which is meant 
an age altogether uncertain. 

Eighth Speaker, I stand corrected, and have no more to say. 

Ninth Speaker, Mr. Speaker! 

Speaker. The gentleman from Massachusetts. 

Ninth Speaker, I beg to inquire what provision the framer 
of this resolution has made, in the event of its passing, for mxain- 
taining the requisite silence among the ladies ? Will the Ser- 
geant-at-Arms be empowered to remove such as make too much 
noise ? Or must it be left to the discretion of the ladies them- 
selves, to be still or not? My only fear is on this ground. 
Should the honorable member succeed in dispelling it, he may 
rely on my support. 

[Several voices exclaim, Mr. Speaker ! ) 

Speaker. The gentleman from South Carolina. 

Tenth Speaker. Sir, one honorable gentleman who has 
addressed the House enlarged, with his accustomed eloquence, 
upon the refining influence which would be exerted by the pres- 
ence of ladies upon the manners of members. Let me remind 
the honorable member that if the three GtRACes were women, so 
were the three Furies. 

Eleventh Speaker. Mr. Speaker ! 

Speaker. The gentleman from Maine. 

Eleventh Speaker, An objection has occurred to me, sir, 
which, with all due deference to the Chair, I must be permitted 
to mention. Should several of us happen to rise together to 
address the House, what chance would any of us have of catch- 
ing the Speaker's eye, while there were ladies on this floor ? 

Speaker, Feeling that the honorable gentleman's remarks 
apply to myself personally, I trust I shall not be considered as 
overstepping the proprieties of my office, if I venture a few 
observations in reply. The success of the pending resolution 
will, undoubtedly, place your Speaker in a peculiar position ; but 
I do assure the House of my firm resolve never to allow my 
regards to be attracted from my duties to members by the allure- 
ments of any lady who may be present. I am aware, gentle- 
men, of the liabilities of human frailty, and I yield to no man 
in my sense of the powerful attractions of the sex whom we pro- 
pose to honor ; but, at the same time, I know that I shall best 
win their approbation and respect by fulfilling the serious duties 
of my station, undazzled by any vision of feminine beauty, and 
undistracted by any bright eyes from the special business before 
this body. [Applause.) 



ON THE ADMISSION OF LADIES. 415 

Twelfth Speaker, Mr. Speaker ! 

Speaker, The gentleman from Alabama. 

Twelfth Speaker, Sir, I find it difficult to give expression to 
the emotions which agitate my breast in considering the subject 
under discussion. My profession has made me more con versant 
with deeds than words ; but, sir, were it otherwise, — were I as 
ready with my tongue 2i^ I trust I have shown myself, at my 
country's call, with my sword^ — still, sir, all the powers of lan- 
guage would fail to convey the feelings of apprehension with which 
I con-tem'plate the passing of this resolution. 

What, sir, compel me to stand up in front of a battery of bon- 
nets, all pointed at me, and expect me to speak calmly and cohe- 
rently on some subject of national moment! Place me tinder 
the immediate flashing of the bright critical eyes of a hundred 
or more ladies, and expect me to retain my composure, and act 
out myself with the self-possession becoming a member of this 
House ! Sir, many of us, even now, find no small difficulty in 
expressing our sentiments. What would be the fate of such 
under the proposed aggravation ? 

Let it not be said, sir, that I am a coward ; my courage has 
been too often tested in the tented field to need to be asserted 
here. If that lobby behind the bar were filled with a menacing 
soldiery, with their pieces leveled at my breast, I could speak 
with an unthrobbing pulse and an unfaltering tongue ; but, sir, 
surrounded by ladies, — " ladies to right of me, ladies to left of 
me, ladies in front of me," — sir, I could not speak at all ! The 
war-horse that will rush upon a row of cannon will start at the 
flapping of a banner. It is vain to reason with us. It is a 
superstition, Mr. Speaker, and we can not help it. 

Thirteenth Speaker, Mr. Speaker ! 

Speaker, The gentleman from New Jersey. 

Thirteenth Speaker, Whilst I sympathize with the feelings 
of my honorable friend, the gal-lant' colonel — I beg pardon — 
the gal'lant colonel, who has just addressed you, I am still more 
alive to a danger of an opposite description. }le seeks to avoid 
Scylla ; I am equally anxious to shun Charyb'dis,^ He is appre- 
hensive that the admission of the ladies would close some lips 
which ought to be open ; I fear it would open many which ought 
ever to be shut ; — that every coxcomb then would find a tongue, 
for whom the House could not possibly find an ear ; — that a 
plain, straightforward, business-like style of speaking would be 
despised, and a florid, poetical one affected; — grave subjects 
treated as trifling, and trifling as grave ; — all considerations of 

* The ch in this word has the sound of k. 



416 DEBATES. 

patriotism, justice, economy, merged in those of romantic folly 
and an all-sacrificing gallantry ; — the lute and harp taking 
precedence of the trumpet and drum ; and this House, once the 
seat of grand debate, and the oracle of a natiorCs wisdom, become 
the arena of an exhibition, compared with which, the tournament, 
the bull-fight, and even the encounters of pugilists, would be 
rational and humane. 

Far be it from me, sir, to represent the ladies as the cause^ or 
any thing more than the occasion^ of all this. The fault would 
attach not to the influence, but to the influencee?. If the moon's 
pure and chaste beam find out every weak part in a human head, 
the consequent lunacy is to be charged not upon the moon, but 
upon the head. 

Nevertheless, as it is much more easy to prevent than to cure, 
I beg to give notice that, if this resolution pass, to prevent these 
evil consequences, I shall bring in a bill providing that none but 
married gentlemen, or bachelors above the age of seventy, shall 
be eligible to seats in this House. 

Speaker. The gentleman from Illinois has the floor. 

Fourteenth Speaker, I shall oppose this motion, not from 
individual fear, as some gentlemen have done, nor, I pledge my- 
self, from any party wish to prevent the friends of the adminis- 
tration from reaping deserved popularity, by passing a well- 
devised measure, if this were one ; but from a deliberate convic- 
tion that the discipline of this House — ay, and the very consti- 
tution of this House — are at stake. Sir, we are obliged at 
times to enter into secret sessions. Are we to allow the ladies to 
remain on such occasions, or is the Speaker to politely request 
them to quit the hall ? Sir, he may request them, but will they 
go when they are requested ? Will not feminine curiosity be an 
overpowering inducement to them to stay, and to learn what secret 
business the House can have in hand ? And then, sir, if under 
an oath of secrecy we allow them to remain, who is so credulous 
as to believe that a hundred women would keep an oath, 
which {Cries of order ! order ! shame ! &c.) 

I am not to be put down, sir, by the hootings of those whose 
sharpest rhetoric is a howl of dissent, and whose most powerful 
retort is a hiss. I maintain it, the ladies are not to be trusted 
with the business of our secret sessions. The ladies are very well 
in their places, but the floor of this House is not their place. I 
shall vote against the resolution. [Several members try to get 
thejloor.) 

Speaker. The gentleman from Kentucky. 

Fifteenth Speaker. Mr. Speaker, — however men of sense 



ON THE ADMISSION OF LADIES. 417 

and feeling may differ as to the propriety and expediency of the 
present resolution, they must be all agreed as to the impropriety 
and Z'Tzexpediency of making this discussion a medium of depre- 
ciating and vilifying a sex which can not be too highly appre- 
ciated and honored ; a sex to which we are under such unspeak- 
able obligations ; to which we owe not only existence, but all 
that adorns and endears existence — a sex in whose exaltation 
we are exalted, and in whose degradation we must be still more 
deeply degraded. 

I have heard of silly boys, who seemed to think the first and 
best proof of incipient manhood was to sneer at woman ; but I 
certainly did not expect to find a folly, unworthy of a schoolboy, 
sanctioned by the authority of a member of this House. The 
honorable gentleman who remarked that ladies were all very well 
in their places, in a sneering tone, which implied that he thought 
meanly of those places, must surely have forgotten the period 
of his boyhood ; the days when, after receiving a thousand 
insults, — after being elbowed off by one, pushed away by a 
second, and made game of by a third, he came home to his mother, 
and found that his own fireside was the happiest place on earth 
to him ; when his mother did what no one else would have con- 
descended to do, — conversed 's^i\h him, — treated him like a 
rational being ; and, by so doing, contributed to make him one. 
The honorable member surely forgot all this, — forgot that moth- 
ers are women, — when he spoke as if the sex were of an inferior 
order, and required to be kept in their places. The only doubt 
— the only reasonable doubt — is, whether this House is worthy 
of ladies, — not whether they are worthy of it ; whether their 
entrance upon this floor would not be a descent, rather than an 
«5cent ; whether their duties are not of too elevated and sacred 
a character, and their time too valuable, to allow of their honor- 
ing us with their presence in this House. 

Speaker, The gentleman from California. 

Sixteenth Speaker, Sir, whilst I cordially sympathize with 
my honorable friend's glowing testimony to the merits of woman 
(a testimony, sir, which does equal honor to his head and to his 
heart — ay, sir, to his heart and to his head), I yet do not see, 
sir, that those merits supply any reason for passing the present 
resolution. I will yield to no man, sir, in admiration, respect^ 
AFi^ECTiON, — ay, sir, affection, — for the ladies. 

*« Old as I am, for ladies' love unfit. 
The power of beauty I remember yet.'* 

Yet, sir, surely I may desire not to be diverted, sir, by the pres- 



418 DEBATES. 

ence of ladies, sir, in a house of business, — a character which I 
hope this House, sir, will ever maintain, sir, — but a character, 
sir, which the adoption of this resolution, sir, must inevitably 
destroy. Why, sir, we shall have for the order of the day — 
flirtations ! — Flirtations, sir ! I repeat it, sir, flirtations ! Gen- 
tlemen will be chatting small talk, sir, when they ought to be 
studying the appropriation bill. They will be ogling when they 
ought to be meditating questions of state — questions of state, sir. 
They will be sighing like a pavior, sir, when they ought to be 
working like a beaver — like a beaver, sir. Sir, the resolution 
would convert this hall into a boudoir.^ Grentlemen would have 
to come with bouquets! in their hands. It will never do, sir — 
the people, sir, would never stand it. Had I fifty votes, I would 
throw them all against a resolution so fraught with danger. 

Speaker, The gentleman from New York. 

Seventeenth Speaker, After the — the extraordinary — speech 
of the honorable gentleman who spoke — that is, who addressed 
the House — last — I feel called upon to — speak — that is, to 
address this House — also. Sir, I feel that my constituents will 

expect that I — will expect that I — will expect that I [Cries 

of " Will expect that you will sit down ! " " What will they 
expect? " etc., accompanied with coughing and scrapings of feet.) 

Sir, this interruption is as ungentlemanly as it is — ( Ugh ! 
ugh ! ugh!) Sir, the conduct of honorable members — (Ugh ! 
ugh ! ugh !) Sir, what did my constituents send me here for — 
what did they send me here for, sir ? — (Cries of " Heaven only 
knows ! " " Ay, that 's a puzzler ! " " Who can tell ? " etc.) — I 
do not mean to say, sir, that any thing I can say will have any effect 
upon the House — (Cries of " Certainly not — I don't think it 
will," etc. — ugh ! ugh ! ugh !) — or that it will have anything to 
do with the matter in hand. — (A general coughing and scraping 
of feet ^ during which the honorable member sits down.) 

Speaker. Order, gentlemen ! order ! The member from Penn- 
sylvania. 

Eighteenth Speaker. {Oldest member) Sir, during the thirty- 
five years that I have had the honor of a seat in this House — - 
during the whole course of my congressional experience, in office 
or out of office — I have never witnessed an exhibition more 
unbecoming, more unparliamentary, more inconsistent with the 
spirit of our institutions, than that which has just transpired. Sir, 
I remember once seeing in the House of Commons the celebrated 
Mr. Burke coughed down and prevented from speaking ; but, sir, 
it remained for gentlemen now present to introduce into an Ameri- 

* Pronounced hoo-dwar'. f Pronounced boo-kays'. 



ON THE ADMISSION OF LADIES. 419 

can Congress this outrage upon good manners and fair dealing. 
Allow me to express my surprise, that the Chair did not more 
promptly rebuke the impertinence — that he did not at once 
come to the relief of the insulted member. 

Speaker, If the gentleman will allow me, I will explain. I 
was at the moment arranging business with the Clerk, and did 
not fully comprehend the nature of the disturbance. 

Eighteenth Speaker. Sir, every member of this House has the 
right to be heard ; and in silencing any member, you tell his 
constituents that their rights are scorned and made light of on 
this floor. 

Sir, one word more. During the disgraceful altercation which 
roused members to their feet, a short time since, I saw one 
gentleman — gentleman, did I say? — well, let it pass — I saw one 
gentleman draw a revolver, and another a bowie-knife. It strikes 
me, sir, that these arguments, though no doubt very potent, are 
hardly the kind of reasoning for a deliberative assembly. Shame 
on the passions that require such appeals, and shame on those 
who resort to them ! I beheld two grown men, sir, shaking their 
fists at each other, their countenances distorted with rage, 
and they losing, in their im'becile anger, all sense of the presence 
in which they stood, all reverence for parliamentary rules, 
all consideration for the supreme legislative hall of the republic — 
for the popular majesty as here represented. Sir, such scenes 
would disgrace a couple of bullies at a prize=fight. I see the 
gentlemen chafing under my rebuke ; but, sir, they know in their 
hearts it is just, and I will not retract a single word. 

Fifth Speaker, {Angrily.) The gentleman's age is his shield. 

Eighteenth Speaker, Well, sir, I am glad that there is any 
shield, which that gentleman respects, against ruffianism. Sir, it 
did not need his reminder to make me aware that I am in the 
vale of years. Sir, my age and increasing infirmities {here the 
member coughs asthmatically) will soon oblige me to retire from 
my position in this House ; but, sir, during the brief remainder 
of my stay here, I will, at all hazards, and while I have breath 
to speak, stand up for the decencies of debate, and for the rights 
of every member, however humble. 

The Opener, Sir, before the question is put, I beg to make a 
few observations in reply to the objections which have been 
brought against my resolution, and — under cover of my resolu- 
tion — against the ladies themselves. Some of these objections 
were evidently feigned — yes, sir, feigned. The facetious gen- 
tleman who was apprehensive that the Speaker would have no 
eyes for members of this House, while ladies were present 



420 ^ DEBATES. 

and the equally facetious gentleman who was apprehensive that 
the ladies, instead of listening to speeches, would be playing off 
their arts of conquest, having had the full benefit of their 
jests, will, I am persuaded, give me their votes. 

One honorable member, with equal sagacity and learning, has 
discovered that because the Furies were women, women are 
furies. Unhappy man ! whose disordered fancy, or guilty con- 
science, has invested even beauty with deformity, and armed 
even gentleness with terrors. He need not fear furies from with- 
out : he carries them within. 

Another — with equal originality — has complimented the 
ladies with being " Goddesses of Discord ! " I will accept part 
of the compliment. I will take the divinity^ and my friend 
may keep the discord. 

An honorable and gallant colonel spoke under a highly ner- 
vous apprehension that the presence of ladies would rob him of 
the power of speaking. Let me assure him that his apprehen- 
sion is purely nervous. The ladies appear formidable only at a 
distance. A nearer acquaintance with them will dispel all his 
fears. They are specially indulgent to modest merit. 

Allow me to trespass a few moments longer upon your atten- 
tion. You have been already reminded of the claims which that 
sex derives from the maternal relation. / beg to remind you of 
the less strong — yet very strong — claims it derives from an- 
other relation, and of the still stronger from a third. Who can 
enumerate a brother's obligations to a sister? — her pure, disin- 
terested affection — her softening, refining influence, richly re- 
paying what she receives in protection, fashioning and qualifying 
the youth for a still dearer relation. Mark a youth of coarse, 
rugged feelings, temper, and manners, and in ninety-nine cases 
out of a hundred you will find he has no sister. 

In regard to the conjugal relation, I can speak only from ob- 
servation and hearsay ; but so far as these enable me to judge, I 
do not hesitate to pronounce it the purest and most ennobling 
source of happiness to man. 

One word more, Mr. Speaker, and I have done. The mem- 
bers who are opposed to me upon this question will remember 
that lists of the division will be printed ; that bright eyes will 
be upon them, and that the least they can expect from the 
ladies will be a sentence of perpetual banishment from their 
society, of which society they will, by this evening's vote, have 
pronounced themselves unworthy. 

Speaker. Is the House now ready for the question ? Gentle- 
men in favor of the resolution will say ay. [A clamorous and 



ON A TASTE FOR POETRY, 421 

wmnimous ay is heard.) Those opposed to the resolution will 
say no. The resolution is unanimously adopted. 



m. — IS POETRY PREJUDICIAL TO SUCCESS IN LIFE? 

Chairman, Grentlemen will come to order. The question for 
the present debate is as follows {reads from a paper) : "Is the 
cultivation of a taste for poetry prejudicial to success in life ? " 
I confess, gentlemen, that I have been too much occupied during 
the week to give to this subject the consideration which it 
deserves. I shall, therefore, withhold any expression of my 
views till I have heard what others have to say, and thus ob- 
tained some materials for a judgment. The Opener now has the 
floor. 

Opener, Sir, I shall take the affirmative of this question, and 
maintain that the poetical is ad' verse to the positive, to the 
practical, to the real ; and that the cultivation of a taste for 
poetry is apt to be a serious obstacle to worldly success. Sir, 
one half of the mistakes and ills of life arise from the abuse of 
the imagination. When we ought to be riveting our attention 
on the business immediately in hand, we let the imagination dis- 
tract us with prospects clothed in its delightful rose-hues. Much 
pleasanter are those prospects, no doubt, than the matter before 
us — pleasanter than a demonstration in Euclid, or a sum in 
algebra; pleasanter than any homely, every-day task. Now, 
just in proportion as the play of the imagination diverts us from 
the discharge of the serious duties of life, — just in that propor- 
tion, I say, is the imagination an intruder and a mischief-maker. 
Well, sir, poetry ministers to the imaginative part of our nature ; 
— it rouses, excites, and charms, the imaginative faculty — it 
stimulates that faculty to lord it over those soberer faculties, the 
faithful exercise of which is essential to our well-being. Why, 
sir, what says Shakspeare himself, the admitted king of bards, 
the very high priest of poetry ? 

^' The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, 
Are of imagination all compact'." 

He couples the poet, sir, with the madman, and with one who is 
often little better than a madman, the lover ! (Cries of order ! 
shame ! The Chairman raps and says : The gentleman is not 
out of order. He has a right to his opinion.) Who can doubt ? 
Sir, such interruptions shall not affect my plain speaking. Who 
can doubt, sir, I say, that Shakspeare himself regarded poetry as 
detrimental to success in life ? And will the advocates of poetry 
36 



422 DEBATES. 



demand a higher authority than his ? I think not, sir, and I 
am willing to accept that authority as the sufficient crown of my 
argument. 

[Several members rise and cry^ Mr. Chairman ! The Chair- 
man calls the name of the Second Speaker.) 

Second Speaker. There are as many sides to this subject, I 
believe, sir, as there are facets to a prism ; and I may add that 
there are so many prismatic colors dancing about the question, 
that the judgment is bewildered as to its true aspect. But, sir, 
I will take a purely practical and historical view of it, and that 
view, I must contend, corroborates the argument of my predeces- 
sor. Poets, sir, are proverbially unfortunate ; and, as Young 
says, '' Look into those, men call unfortunate, and, nearer viewed, 
you '11 find they 've been unwise.''^ The name of poet, sir, brings 
up the recollection of Homer, a beggar and a vagrant ; of the 
starving Otway, choked by a crust ; of Marlowe, killed in a 
low and disgraceful quarrel ; of Ghatterton, seeking in death a 
refuge from penury ; of Goldsmith, always in debt ; of Burns, 
dissipated and unthrifty ; of Savage, perishing in prison ; of 
Byron, whose life was a failure ; of Cowper, miserable and mad ; 
of Tasso, triumphant only in death. Sir, I could go on extend- 
ing the catalogue till I exhausted jour patience. But I think I 
have refreshed your memory sufficiently to show that the poet's 
lot has been generally a most unenviable one ; that his Jordan 
has been truly a hard road to travel ; and that his success in 
life has rarely been such as to afford an argument adverse to our 
position on this question. 

Third Speaker. I would like to know, sir, what we are to 
understand by the phrase " success in life." There are various 
opinions on this head. With one person, " success in life " is 
the getting of money. The rich man is in his eye the successful 
man. John Jacob Astor and Stephen Grirard are the incarna- 
tions of his idea of " success in life." With another, the attain- 
ment of office and position is success. The President, the Secre- 
tary of State, the Postmaster, the Governor, are successful men. 
With another, the man who can lead a life of pleasure and 
excitement has achieved success. 

But, sir, my notions of success do not accord with any of these. 
To my mind, the man who has best developed his moral, mental, 
and physical faculties is the successful man. He has done the 
best that he could do for his health of body and soul. He has 
fulfilled those laws which, in his moments of clearest insight, he 
sees are sacred and divine. His lot may be lowly, but he is 
nobly contented. A " violet by a mossy stone " is to him a source 



f 



I 



I 



ON A TASTE FOR POETRY. 423 

of happiness ; for, along with his other faculties, he has culti- 
vated his love of the beautiful — ay, sir, the 'poetical element of 
his being. The shifting of the clouds, the aspect of the ocean, 
the waving grass, the drifting snow, all the ministrations of 
nature, are to him joys and benedictions. Sir, such a man is a 
poet, though he may not know it : 

" Many are poets who have never penned 
Their inspiration; and perchance the best." 

And, sir, such a man has attained true success in life ; for he 
has best fulfilled the great disciplinary object of living, the exer- 
cise and development of faculties which will best make him the 
recipient of heavenly and immortal joys. Sir, how immeasurably 
above the success of the rich man, or of the mere man of office, 
or of the man of pleasure, is such success ! 

Fourth Speaker. Mr. Chairman, I object to our allowing the 
remarks of the last speaker to carry any weight. A criminal is 
never suffered to be a witness in his own behalf. The gentleman 
who has so eloquently defended the cause of poets is himself a 
poet. He was caught the other day in the act, or, as we lawyers 
say, Jla-grante de-lic'tu, Walker's Ehyming Dictionary in one 
hand, and a manuscript in the other, his eyes in a fine frenzy 
rolling, his hair uncombed, his — 

Third Speaker, Mr. Chairman, I object to these personalities. 

Fourth Speaker, But I maintain, sir, — 

Chairman. The gentleman will come to order. 

Fourth Speaker. I will prove, sir, that — 

Chairman. Sit down, sir ! 

Fifth Speaker. Sir, the gentleman who is charged with being 
a poet has, nevertheless, raised a question of essential importance 
in this discussion. What are we to understand by the phrase 
" success in life " ? I would like to have that settled before we 
proceed further. 

Sixth Speaker. Mr. Chairman, we will not resort to subtleties 
and refinements of language for the purpose of obscuring what is 
plain and simple. By '^ success in life," every one means the 
attainment of that position of competence, of respectability, of 
popularity, which is, in the majority of cases, most conducive to 
happiness and a useful life. No one will contend that the bad 
rich man has attained more success in life than the good man of 
moderate means, who is yet rich in the esteem of his fellow-citi- 
zens. But the man who, through imprudence in worldly afikirs, 
or too great devotion to pursuits incompatible with worldly ad- 
vancement, has missed the prize of competence for himself and 



424 DEBATES. 

family, — that man, we Bay, has failed of success in life. Now, 
under this view of the case, how large a majority of the poets 
have failed ! And, therefore, I contend that poetry is prejudicial 
to success. 

Seventh Speaker, I think I understand the gentleman ; but 
there is a fatal fallacy in his argument. If we are to measure a 
man's success in life by his attainment of a competence, of 
respectability, of popularity, then must we pronounce the lives 
of some of the greatest ornaments and benefactors of humanity 
to be failures. Then Columbus did not achieve success in life, 
though he gave America to the world ; John Gu tenberg did not 
attain success, though he gave us the art of printing, for he 
impoverished himself, and made himself very unpopular, especially 
among the scribes, who got their living by copying manuscripts. 
John Huss did not attain success, for he was burnt at the stake 
— a very unpopular exit, and by no means respectable. Robert 
Fulton missed the prize of success in life, although he gave us 
the steamboat. In the words of my predecessor, his devotion 
was '^ too great to pursuits incompatible with worldly advance- 
ment." He deris^ed little or no benefit from his invention, was 
scoffed at as a dreamer, and died poor. 

Ah ! sir, I do not believe in my friend's definition. That man 
is the most successful who has built up the noblest character, 
and who has done most for humanity. Though he die poor, 
though he die at the stake, though he die ignominiously on the 
gallows, still he is the truly successful one. 

" Whether on the gallows high, or in the battle's van, 
The fittest place where man can die is where he dies for man.'' 

In short, sir, that man has best achieved " success in life " who 
has done deeds, and thought thoughts, which shall be to him the 
best crown of honor, the best source of satisfaction, in another 
and a higher life. Any other view of success than this is delu- 
sive, pernicious, and atheistical. 

Eighth Speaker, Mr. Chairman, it seems to me that gentle- 
men are straying, in a most unwarrantable manner, from the 
topic immediately before us. The question, as I understand it, 
is, whether a devotion to poetry is adverse to worldly prosperity. 

Chairman, The gentleman has not stated the question with 
precision. It is, " Whether the cultivation of a taste for poetry 
is prejudicial to success in life." Such being the question, it is 
no straying from the subject to discuss what is meant by *' success 
in life." 

Eighth Speaker. Well, sir, I must still believe that the dis- 



ON A TASTE FOR POETRY. 425 

cussion has taken too wide a range. ^Ye all have a general idea 
of what is meant by success in life ; and I think there is no 
doubt that poets generally fail of that success. Why, sir, who 
is disposed to trust a poetical clerk, or a poetical lawyer, or a 
poetical doctor ? No man of business wants a poet in his count- 
ing-house or his banking-room. 

I know a young man who, whenever he wants money from his 
relations, threatens to publish a volume of poems. To prevent 
such a disgrace to the family — such a calamity to himself — 
they readily come " down with the dust." Poets are notoriously 
improvident, careless, and unthrifty. The man who accosts me 
once a month with the inquiry, '' You have n't such a thing as a 
V spot about you ? " writes poetry for the magazines. Sir, I 
shall vote on this question in the affirmative. 

Ninth Speaker. I hope, sir, that the gentleman will keep his 
mind open to conviction. Facts are unfortunately against him. 
When he asked " Who wants a poet in his banking-room?" I was 
irresistibly reminded of two American poets, who, if not at the 
head of the list, are second to none. I allude to Charles Sprague 
and Fitz-Grreene Haileck. [Applause.) Halleck, the author of 
the immortal "Marco Bozzaris," ^ was for many years the con- 
fidential clerk of the wealthiest man in the countrjr, Mr. Astor. 
Sprague was the cashier of a bank, and famous for his punctil- 
iousness, his diligence, and his wonderful accuracy in financial 
matters. If other examples arc wanting, there is that of Hor- 
ace Smith, a successful broker ; of Samuel Kogers, a prosperoLis 
banker. Sir, it is not true that a taste for poetry unfits a man 
for active duties. 

" Who trusts a poetical lawyer ? " the gentleman asked. Sir, 
did he forget that Blackstone, the famous author of the Com- 
mentaries, of the first book studied in the law, was a poet? Did 
he forget that Mr. Justice Story, whose law-books are quoted 
throughout the land, was a poet ? 1 might go on, and multiply 
instances without number, directly in the teeth of the gentleman's 
assertion ; but there are other views of the sul^ject more con- 
vincing than this, and I will make way for those who are better 
able to do them justice. 

Tenth Speaker. Mr. Chairman, I do not believe that the 
cultivation of poetry is incompatible with legal studies or legal 
success. Sir, I have a friend in a lawyer's office, who is as dil- 
igent a student of Blackstone as can be found. He recently 
wrote some lines " on the coming on of spring." I am the fortu- 

* See Sargent's Standard Speaker, the most comprehensive of the series-. 
36* 



426 DEBATES. 

nate possessor of a copy \ and, as pertinent to the subject under 
discussion, I will read them : 

*' Whereas on certain boughs and sprays 
Now divers birds are heard to sing. 
And sundry flowers their heads upraise, — 
Hail to the coming on of Spring. 

*' The songs of those said birds arouse 
The memory of our youthful hours. 
As green as those said sprays and boughs. 
As fresh and sweet as those said flowers. 

** The birds aforesrdd — happy pairs ! — 

Love 'mid the aforesaid boughs enshrines 
In freehold nests — themselves, their heirs. 
Administrators, and assigns. 

*' ! busiest term of Cupid's court. 

Where tender plaintifls action bring ! — 
Season of frolic and of sport, 

Hail, as aforesaid, coming Spring ! " 

There, sir ! Who will say, after that, that law and poetry can 
not go hand in hand ? (Laughter and applause.) 

Eleventh Speaker. Sir, I agree with the Opener, that if we 
would discharge successfully the serious business of life, we must 
keep the imagination in check. Lord Bacon tells us that " poetry 
is subservient to the imagination, as logic is to the understand- 
ing ; " and there is keen insight in the remark. But, sir, an 
hour of honest action is worth an age of mere imagining. Poetry 
gives to the imaginative faculty a morbid activity, at war with 
our every-day interests — at war with a steady attention to busi- 
ness — at war, in short, with success in life. Sir, we must not 
allow ourselves to be juggled by the imagination, if we would 
succeed as men of action ; and, therefore, the less we have to do 
with poetry, the better. 

Twelfth Speaker, I would ask, sir, what stimulates a man to 
action but imagination? What sent Columbus across the un trav- 
ersed seas ? What but the imagination that by sailing westward 
he should reach the extreme eastern coast of India? Ah ! sir, the 
men falsely called " practical men," and '^ men of action," in his 
day, all sneered at him as a fa-nat'ic and a visionary. Some of 
the greatest discoveries in chemistry had their origin in the imag- 
inations of the old alchemists, who labored over their crucibles in 
the hope of finding the secret of transmuting the baser metals 
into gold. Franklin's great discovery of the identity of light- 
ning and electricity was first an imagination. Some of the 
noblest achievements on record had their origin in an impulse of 
the imagination. Sir, the imagination precedes the act, as the 
lightning does the thunderbolt. 



ON A TASTE FOR POETRY. 427 

Some gentlemen prate of the imagination, as if it were an 
excrescence, to be seared with a red-hot iron. Sir, it is a faculty 
which God has given us for good uses. Like other faculties, it 
may be abused ; and, sir, there is no man who abuses his imag- 
ination more deplorably than he who thinks the chief end and 
aim of existence is the accumulation of material wealth. By 
the magnifying power of that man's imagination, happiness 
is made to reside where no sound and well-balanced mind ever 
yet found it. Sir, his elysium is more visionary than the fool's 
paradise. 

To talk of a man of action as one who has got rid of his imag- 
ination, is a mere absurdity. He is often indebted to his imag- 
ination for all of good that he effects outwardly. Crush the 
imagination, and where is hope — where is faith — where is that 
power which makes us as secure in the things unseen and eternal 
as in the things visible and transient ? I thank the gentleman 
for the quotation from Bacon ; for, if " poetry is subservient to 
the imagination, as logic is to the understanding," poetry fulfills a 
good office, and is conducive to the highest order of success in 
life of vv^hich the human being is capable. 

Thirteenth Speaker. This discussion has reminded me, sir, 
of that poem by the great German bard, Schiller,^ entitled " The 
Sharing of the Earth." Jupiter cries from heaven unto man- 
kind, " Take ye the world." Immediately there is a scramble. 
The husbandman takes possession of fields for cultivation ; — the 
hunter ranges through the wood ; — the merchant takes whatever 
he can put in his warehouses ; — the abbot chooses the noblest 
wine ; — the king claims a tenth of every thing. At length, after 
the sharing is all over, in comes the poet. But for him not a 
remnant is left, and he begins to murmur. Jupiter rebukes him 
with the inquiry, " What were you about when all the rest were 
making their choice?" — "Ah!" says the poet, "I was with 
thee. The harmony of thy heavens entranced my ear : the glory 
of thy countenance enchained my sight." — " What shall I do ? " 
says Jupiter ; " every thing is disposed of; but if it will be any 
accommodation to you to come and live with me in heaven, do so ; 
the doors shall be always open to you." 

Sir, the moral of the fable is evident. Bad as the poet's lot 
may seem to our more practical, positive, and acquisitive breth- 
ren, there is compensation in it ; and perhaps the poet's success, 
when weighed in those scales which can not err, will not prove 
so inferior as some gentlemen seem to suppose. In the end he 
may appear the man of true sagacity. 

* Pronounced Shil'ler. 



428 DEBATES. 

Fourteenth Speaker, Mr, Chairman, as I understand it, it is 
of worldly success that we are speaking. 

Chairman. The phrase is " success in life." 

Fourteenth Speaker, Well, sir, by life is meant that only life 
of which we are conscious of having had any experience— the life 
of this world. It seems to me that gentlemen are transcending 
the fair logical bounds, when they seek a basis for their argu- 
ments in the sacred but unknown regions of futurity. Sir, no 
one doubts that success in life may coexist with a taste for poetry. 
The question is, may not that success be more surely and easily 
attained without that taste ? I believe that it may be. Such is 
the competition in all branches of business at the present time, 
that a man must give his undivided attention to a pursuit, if he 
would succeed in it. Now, the only effect of poetry is to prevent 
that singleness of attention, that concentration of energy, without 
which success is doubtful, if not impossible. Under this view of 
the case, there can be no doubt that poetry is practically preju- 
dicial. 

Fifteenth Speaker, Sir, the gentleman has assumed that suc- 
cess in a pursuit is identical with success in life. But the two 
successes may be much at variance. A man's failure in business 
may lead him to a far higher success in the true art of living. 
Sir, if a man's business is such that he has no thoughts — none 
whatever — to spare for higher and better things, all I can say 
is, that if he does not soon change that business, his life will be 
a dead failure. I care not what the competitions of trade may 
require. A true man will find out, before it is too late, that 
Heaven did not intend him for a mere money -making machine. 
The more poetry there is in his nature, the sooner will he find 
that out. My friend v/ho spoke last seems to think that the 
poet's recompenses are wholly in the future. Sir, they are real, 
and tangible, and present. They exist all around him. All 
nature lays her tributes at his feet. Sir, wealth without poetry 
is mere dirt. 

" Fancy 's the wealth of wealth, the toiler's hope. 
The poor man's piecer-out ; the art of nature. 
Painting her hindscapes twice ; the spirit of fact, 
As matter is the body ; the pure gift 
Of Heaven to poet and to child ; which he 
Who retains most in manhood, being a man, 
In all things fitting else is most a man ; 
Because he wants no human faculty, 
Nor loses one sweet taste of this sweet world." 

Sixteenth Speaker. I think no one will deny, Mr. Chairman, 
that, however prejudicial poetry may be to success in the dry 



ON A TASTE FOR POETRY. 429 

goods business, or the hard-ware trade, it is not prejudicial to 
eloquence. All great orators, sir, have produced their greatest 
effects by appeals to the imagination and the passions — in other 
words, by language poetical in essence, if not in form. From 
Cicero to Webster, from the "How far, Catiline!" of the 
former, to the " Liberty and union, now and for ever," of the 
latter, it will be found true that eloquence in its highest moods 
borrows from poetry its sacred fire. 

And, sir, those who would shut us out from the cultivation of 
a taste for poetry must take from us the book of books, the 
Bible. We must not read the Prophets, nor the Psalms, nor the 
book of Job, where poetry never since ecjualed is to be found. 
Nay, sir, we must expunge passages in the New Testament, — 
even that divine and touching one, breathing the very soul of 
poetry, " Behold the lilies of the field ! they toil not, neither do 
they spin." 

Sir, until you rob us of the Bible, — ay, until you rob us of 
the book of nature^ as well as of revelation^ of the " sermons in 
stones " and the " books in the running brooks," — you can not, 
if you would, repress the taste for poetry, even if you decide 
that it is prejudicial to what you call " success in life." 

Seventeenth Speaker. Mr. Chairman, — if in order, I '11 

express my notions briefly on this much-disputed subject; 
on this subject much disputed ; and, if you have no objec- 
tion, I '11 express them in a measure, in a measure and a 
jingle that has lately come in fashion ; one that is as 

much more easy than plain prose, sir, as a canter, canter 

regular and gentle, is more easy than a trot, sir. On this 

question my conclusion is that every anxious mother, 
every shrewd, detective father, with a marriageable daughter, 
is uncommon shy of poets. Now, as no success in life, 
sir, can be counted quite complete, sir, unperfected by a 
marriage, by a well-assorted marriage, so, sir, if it be 
admitted, as it must be, as it will be, poetry 's a bar to 

that^ sir, — namely, to a well-assorted, prudent, and 

agreeable marriage, — then, sir, we have proved our case, 
sir : poetry is prejudicial, is indis'putably ad' verse 

to that true success in life, sir, which, though all unworthy, 

we, sir, we, the single, the unmatched ones, do not even 

?/ef despair of. Need I, sir, pursue the subject? Will 

not every one admit, sir, that the young man who writes 

verses is regarded, is avoided, — by mamma, sir, and 
papa, sir, — ay, and sometimes by herself, sir, by the 



430 DEBATES. 

loved one, the adored one J — as a very dangerous person — 
as a person dangerous — very ! 

Eighteenth Speaker, Mr. Chairman, — if the gentleman 
were really sincere, he would not parade his own facility in verse- 
making. But, sir, it is not true that the poet has jeoparded his 
chances of matrimonial success. We have all heard, sir, of " the 
girl who gave to song what gold could never buy," Sir, she was 
not a solitary instance. There are many such. Let me win a 
heart, — a true, feminine heart, worthy of the winning, — and I 
will not check the inspiration which the lady's own charms have 
awakened, even though, as the gentleman expresses it, papa and 
mamma are " shy of poets." No, sir ; I will set the sweet vein 
a-flowing ; and if she, who has my homage, will not listen to 
" the oracle that can tell nations she is beautifal," why, sir, she 
is not the lady I took her for, and the sooner the engagement is 
broken off the better. 

'Nineteenth Speaker, Mr. Chairman, — I protest against that 
gentleman's compelling any lady to listen to his verses. (Hear ! 
hear ! ) Such compulsion would be unwarrantable cruelty on his 
part, and might be attended with dangerous consequences to the 
unhappy victim of his poetic rage. If there are any ladies pres- 
ent, I hope they will be warned against him in time. In cases 
where a powerful anodyne is wanted, sir, I should think his 
poetry might serve a good — 

Chairman. {Rapping.) The gentleman is straying from the 
subject before us, and his remarks, moreover, are personal. He 
will come to order. 

Nineteenth Speaker. I will say no more, sir. 

Twentieth Speaker. Sir, I think that our poetical brethren, 
with one distinguished exception {bows to Seventeenth Speaker), 
have been rather hard upon us plain, practical folks of the posi- 
tive school — positivists, we are sometimes called. But, sir, an 
ounce of fact is worth a whole ton of mere rhetoric and specu- 
lation. Now, the gentleman who followed the Opener did not 
confine himself to simple argument. He instanced the names of 
several great poets, and showed very conclusively, I think, that 
poetry had been to them a will-o'-the wisp, leading them into all 
sorts of scrapes. No speaker, as far as I have heard, has yet 
answered those objections. 

Twenty 'first Speaker, Perhaps those objections are not so 
difficult of confutation as the gentleman may suppose. Against 
the names of Burns, Goldsmith, Byron, Savage, Otway, and other 
stray sons of song, we place the names of Milton, of Words- 
worth, of Scott, of Montgomery, of Addison, of Southey, of 



ON A TASTE FOR POETRY. 431 

Heber, of Watts, and many, many others that I might name — 
all men whose lives fulfill the idea of success. Sir, let us make 
ourselves worthy of mingling in the illustrious company of the 
poets — of understanding their thoughts, and becoming sharers 
in their joys. They (the true poets) shall withhold us from 
unworthy pleasures and contaminating influences. Through life 
they shall be to us a solace, and their sweet consolations shall 
not be wanting in the solemn hour of death. 

*' Blessiugs be with them, and eternal praise. 
Who gave us nobler loves and nobler cares — 
The poets — who on earth have made us heirs 
Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays. 
! might m\j name be numbered among theirs. 
Then gladly would I end my mortal days I ' ' 

Chairman. If no other gentleman is disposed to speak, I 
will briefly state the views to which this discussion has brought 
me. It is not fair to attribute to the poetical element in character 
the faults which may be often charged against poets. It may 
have been in spite of their poetry, rather than in coiisequeiice of 
it, that their lives were failures. We may resist the influence of 
our good angels, and yield to our bad. So the poet may give 
way to passions and tendencies, against which all that is truly 
poetical in his nature may rebel. 

No one will deny that Byron was a man of extraordinary 
genius, but that he is always a true poet in his verses it would 
be ridiculous to assert. Well would it be for his fame — well 
would it be for humanity — if two thirds of what he has written 
could pass into annihilation ; for, however it may exhibit a cer- 
tain cleverness, and wear the metrical form of poetry, poetry it 
is not. True poetry is never the ally of a moody unbelief, of a 
puerile aflectation of misanthropy, of impurity and malignity. 
Had Byron lived twenty years lotiger, he would probably have 
wept over those perversions of genius to be found in his works. 
He would have wept even as Moore wept (according to Rogers) 
in his latter years, over his own printed follies and indelicacies. 
Gentlemen, the poetry which says not unto Zion " Thy Grod 
reigneth," is not poetry in the high sense of that word. 

I do not believe that the cultivation of a taste for poetry is 
unfavorable to success in life. On the contrary, I believe it m^ust 
prove an element of strength, of joy, and of good cheer. The 
Opener quoted Shakspeare, as if he, the great, many-sided poet, 
had spoken slightingly of his own vocation. But, gentlemen, 
there is another passage in Shakspeare more appropriate to the 
present discussion. *' What," he asks, — 



432 DEBATES. 

" What is a man, 
If his chief good and market of his time 
Be but to sleep and feed ? — a beast, no more ! 
Sure, He that made us with such large discourse. 
Looking before and after, gave us not 
That capability and godlike reason 
To rust in us unused." 

We may cultivate a poetical taste, and yet be faithful and 
diligent in our business, — good clerks, accurate accountants, ready 
and profound lawyers, useful citizens, good men. We sometimes 
see men whose business faculties have been goaded to an intense 
activity, ending their days in an insane hospital, or becoming 
miserable, confirmed invalids. Well would it have been for their 
true success in life, if there had been a taste for poetry and for 
art to keep their grosser faculties in check, and direct them in 
the path of a rational happiness. 

Gentlemen, I will put the question. Those who assert the 
AFFIRMATIVE, namely, that the cultivation of a taste for poetry 
is prejudicial to success in life^ will say ay. [Three or four 
'"ays'" are heard.) Those who assert the negative will say 
no. [An almost unanimous '' no ! " is heard.) 



606\.,I55 






S 1 



^; ^ .0 






.^^ ^^ 






^. 






^ 1 ^ " \^ 




•M 



-^ 






<y 









d 



glllQ. ^. 


"'i/,^j? 


^^,* 


'^ ' V 


(•- 


^ -i 




"^.^'%^ 




>* ^ ' 






xH ■^>. . 'K 




<' 



-.^ i 






"^ -^ '^ 



^, 



'/ 



^ ''t. 






•'bo'' 

c5 -^^ 






■^ on;^ 









^^x.''' a'^ 



"^^^ •^^..<^'* \c,^^ 

.^^% ^^%. }>'-^.. 



'i ^^ ^--^"' 



>9 



^ V%M^N^^ 






r^ >»> 









^- 'rf-. 












